


Harry Potter and the Overworked Headmaster

by jedipilot24



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Manipulative Dumbledore, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedipilot24/pseuds/jedipilot24
Summary: My take on the "Sirius Black is married with a child" plot, except that it's not enough to keep him out of Azkaban. But at least he managed to rescue Harry from the Dursley's. You'd think that Dumbledore would notice this and he would have...if he didn't have three full-time jobs.HHR, SB/OC, other relationships TBD.





	1. The Boy-Who-Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the dystopic world of Harry Potter, where the government can imprison people without due process; JKR owns that. I also don't own the Dark Wizard Containment Act, rhyejess came up with that in the fic "Sirius Black: Innocent?"

Night enveloped the town of Godric's Hollow, the houses only dimly lit by the streetlamps. The still, quiet night was abruptly shattered when a motorcycle with a sidecar came tearing down a street, finally screeching to a halt in front of one of the houses. The rider, a dark-haired and grey-eyed main, practically leapt off and ran towards the house. His name was Sirius Black and he was a wizard.

"PRONGS!" Sirius called out, "PRONGS!" Then, as he got closer, he noticed that the front door had been blown off its hinges "Oh, no! NO!"

Sirius stopped suddenly when a veritable giant of a man emerged from the house, carrying a small bundle.

"Hagrid?" Sirius said, wondering how the half-giant had managed to get here so quickly; Sirius had tried apparating but had bounced off an anti-apparition spell, placed by whom he didn't know though he suspected Voldemort. That had forced him to use his motorcycle the rest of the way. There was no way that Hagrid, who didn't even know how to apparate, should have gotten here sooner, or for that matter even known to go here in the first place. Sirius only knew that something was up because he'd checked Pettigrew's hiding spot and found him missing with no signs of a struggle. Sirius had immediately tried to contact James—both by Patronus and by mirror—but had gotten no response.

"What's happened? Are they—?"

"'fraid so, Sirius," Hagrid said, "Both Lily an' James are dead, only little Harry here survived."

Sirius felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "No..." he said softly and Hagrid wrapped an arm around Sirius as he mourned "No, they can't—this is my—no..." Sirius finally got ahold of himself and turned toward Harry, still peacefully sleeping. "Give Harry to me, Hagrid."

Hagrid pulled back. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I'm his godfather," Sirius protested, "It's my responsibility to take care of him."

"Professor Dumbledore says otherwise," Hagrid replied, "I'm to take Harry ter his muggle relatives."

"Petunia?" Sirius blinked. What was Dumbledore thinking? Sirius had only met her once, at Lily and James' wedding, but once was enough. "But why? She hates magic."

"I'm sorry, but I have my orders," Hagrid said. Sirius scowled. Lily and James' bodies hadn't even cooled yet and Dumbledore had already decided where Harry was going to live?

That was…suspiciously fast, especially for Dumbledore. But there was no point in arguing with Hagrid for as far as the half-giant was concerned, Albus Dumbledore's word was gospel and woe to anyone who dared disagree. Sirius was guiltily aware that up until a few months ago both he and his wife Karen as well as Lily and James hadn't been all that different, but Dumbledore's recent hiring of Snape of all people to replace old Slughorn as Potions Master—coupled with his refusal to return the Potter Invisibility Cloak—had caused them to start questioning the headmaster's judgment. Those were the reasons, in fact, that they hadn't told him the truth about the Secret-Keeper situation.

"Go ahead and take my motorcycle, then," Sirius said, "I won't be needing it anymore."

Hagrid nodded. "Thank you, Sirius," he said, "I'll be sure to return it to you after I'm done."

After they were gone, Sirius turned and started walking. He didn't know exactly where Lily's relatives lived, but he did know the town; it shouldn't take him long to narrow it down. He sent a Patronus message off to his wife, Karen, to bring her up to speed and so she wouldn't get worried.

* * *

The following evening Sirius finally found Harry sleeping on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging. Sirius, who had watched in his animagus form as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid just abandoned the baby with a letter, changed back and hurried over after the others had left.

"Any last illusions I might have had about trusting you, Dumbledore," Sirius muttered to himself as he picked up the basket containing his sleeping godson, "are definitely gone now. How could you be this careless?"

Sirius spun his heel and apparated back home. Karen was waiting for him; she was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and sea-blue eyes.

"You're finally back," she said, "I see you managed to convince Dumbledore."

Sirius shook his head and set the basket down on the kitchen table. Karen picked up Harry and began cuddling their godson. "Not...exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"Dumbledore," Sirius spat the name, "had Hagrid pick Harry up and then just abandoned him on the doorstep of Lily's muggle relatives."

"What?" Karen exclaimed, "he truly has lost his mind. What kind of a person abandons a baby on a doorstep? Especially at this time of year?"

"The same person who sees no problem with hiring a Death Eater to teach children." They both scowled at this.

The next morning after breakfast Sirius left to go rat hunting. After hours of searching, Sirius finally caught up with Wormtail on a muggle street near the Leaky Cauldron.

Sirius drew his wand and approached the traitor. "Did you really think you could hide from me, you rat!"

Wormtail looked briefly panicked for a moment but then he yelled out, "You're the traitor, you betrayed Lily and James." Sirius open his mouth but then was knocked off his feet when the street in front of him suddenly blew up. Sirius hit the ground awkwardly and felt his wand snap; he had finally managed to get back on his feet when a group of Ministry Hit-Wizards arrived and stunned him.

* * *

While Sirius was out rat hunting, Karen dropped her own daughter, Elizabeth, off at the Tonks and took Harry to St. Mungo's hospital for a full checkup. Finally after hours of waiting, far longer than should have been necessary, Karen's name was finally called to meet with the Healers. The Healer who called her up was an older man with the nametag "Winston".

"Is everything alright?" Karen asked Healer Winston, who'd been conducting the checkup.

"In almost every way," Winston replied, "your godson is the perfect model of health for a child his age. But there is one potential problem."

"Problem?" Karen frowned. "What problem?"

"We found an unhealthy amount of dark magic concentrated in that odd scar on his forehead," Winston explained, "We finally had to bring in a cursebreaker specialist to figure out what it was."

"And?" Karen asked, starting to get concerned.

"And we believe that Harry's scar may contain a…soul fragment."

"A soul fragment?" Karen repeated, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"The cursebreaker described it as an ancient and obscure piece of dark magic called a 'horcrux', apparently it was first invented by the ancient Egyptians as a method of cheating death."

"Can this...'horcrux' be safely removed?"

"Well that's the real problem." Winston sighed. "According to our cursebreaker, most normal methods of destroying a horcrux are very dangerous to use on a living person. However, there may be a solution but it isn't exactly...safe. There's a specialized spell known only to cursebreakers that could remove the soul fragment, but's it's never been used on a living person before and so carries some element of risk. As the boy's guardian, we will need your consent before we can proceed."

Karen thought about it but quickly decided that carrying around a horcrux in his head could not possibly be safe or healthy for Harry in the long term, and she nodded, "I'll take the risk, do what you can to remove it."

"Very well," said Winston. "Please wait here, this shouldn't take long." And indeed it didn't for ten minutes later, Winston emerged with a sleeping Harry and gave him to Karen. Cradling him in her arms, Karen took a really close look at him and noticed that the scar on Harry's forehead had faded a bit from the last time she saw it. "It's done," said Winston," the fragment was removed safely and Harry is, by all appearances, perfectly healthy and no worse off.  
Karen nodded, thanked Winston for the excellent work and left to pick up Elizabeth at the Tonks. It was there she found out about Sirius' arrest.

* * *

"NO!" Karen slammed her fist down on Mr. Crouch's desk. "I swear, Sirius is innocent. He was not the Potter's Secret-Keeper, that was Pettigrew." Crouch's only response was to sneer at her.

"Even if I believed you, which I don't, he's still guilty of thirteen murders."

"I can't believe that Sirius would do that," Karen said, "it's just not him."

"I've got a score of muggle witness who all swear that Sirius was pointing his wand at Pettigrew at the time of the explosion and even in the very unlikely event that you are telling the truth, that merely gives Sirius a different motive."

"What about his wand? Have you even bothered testing it?"

"We can't test it," Crouch retorted, "it was broken in the explosion, but it doesn't matter; the eyewitness testimony alone will put your husband behind bars for the rest of his life."

"Will you at least give him a trial, then?"

"Trial?" Crouch snorted. "And give you the chance to find some technicality to get him off, I don't think so. Sirius Black has been detained under the Dark Wizard Containment Act, which means that trials aren't necessary in his case."

Karen's scowl darkened. The Dark Wizard Containment Act had been passed in the aftermath of the Hogsmeade Massacre of 1979 and allowed suspected dark wizards to be detained indefinitely by the DMLE. But it had never been intended to be used to circumvent trials entirely.

"I won't let you get away with this!" She snarled

"Give it up, missy," Crouch sneered. "Your husband is as dark as his name, you're just in denial."

"No," Karen repeated, "I will find a way to fight this; that is a promise!" And with that she turned and stormed out. Once outside the Ministry, Karen apparated to the Tonks house.

"I take it," Andromeda said, "that you didn't succeed."

"No, I didn't," Karen sighed. But she had meant every word she'd said to Mr. Crouch. Somehow, Karen thought as she held the two babies in her arms, feeling her daughter's dark

hair and looking into her blue eyes, I'll find a way to get your daddy out of prison.

* * *

Alastor Moody sat next to Albus Dumbledore in the Wizengamot court room, watching as Igor Karkaroff reeled off the names of every other Death Eater he knew in a desperate attempt to buy his own freedom, and occasionally interjecting his own comments to Dumbledore about various names. Nearly all of them were Death Eater's who'd already been captured or killed, though Karkaroff did finally hit gold when he mentioned Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries. The last name Karkaroff provided was Severus Snape, which got Albus rising to defend Snape, claiming that he'd "turned spy for us, at great personal risk" and was "now no more a Death Eater than I am." Moody scowled and grunted skeptically at this; he didn't believe that, not for one moment, mainly because—from the rough timeline he'd worked out from Albus's hints—it seemed that Snape had turned "spy" at about the same time that the Order's casualties suddenly started climbing dramatically, which couldn't possibly be just a coincidence.

"Why did you vouch for that filth, Snape?" Alastor asked Albus as Karkaroff was taken away, "It just doesn't feel right to have him walking about free, and teaching children, with only your word that he was secretly helping us. And meanwhile Sirius Black sits in Azkaban without even so much as a trial."

"Sirius Black is a traitor," Albus insisted, "He betrayed the Potters to Voldemort and murdered thirteen people, including Peter Pettigrew. The evidence against him is clear."

"His wife continues to insist otherwise," Alastor retorted.

"She is an unreliable source," Albus replied, "or do you think that she wouldn't lie to get her husband off, even if she knew that he was guilty?"

"No doubt she would," Alastor agreed, "but it's still odd that you went out of your way to clear Snape, but you won't even talk to Sirius."

"The situations are different."

"Oh, of course they are," Alastor said promptly, "Completely different. Because while Snape joined the Death Eaters right out of Hogwarts, Sirius Black joined us. And whereas Snape spent the last several years torturing and murdering muggleborns, Sirius Black married one and has spent the same amount of time fighting against the Death Eaters. So, obviously, Snape deserves a second chance while Sirius Black does not."

"I do see your point," Albus admitted with obvious reluctance, but then shook his head, "But it's too risky. Too many other accused Death Eaters have managed to get off on claims of the Imperius curse and, though we can't prove it, a few well- placed bribes. If Sirius Black is brought to trial, I have no doubt that he and his wife would try the same tactic; and even if they didn't get that idea, one or both of his grandfathers might."

Alastor stared blankly at Albus. "Sirius Black was disowned from his family."

"Or so we were told," said Albus, "It may even have been true at one point in time, but Sirius is now his family's only remaining male heir. That combined with certain…youthful indiscretions of his has left me with little faith in him, his judgment, or his loyalties."

If Sirius Black was guilty, then Albus simply could not afford to take any chances that he might get off; and if in the very unlikely event that he was innocent, well it was still in Harry's best interests to be raised by his muggle relatives. It was unfortunate that Harry would have to be raised by muggles—and Albus knew full well from what had happened to Arianna that the Dursley's were unlikely to truly love the boy, however grudgingly they might take him in—but the need to ensure Harry's safety trumped all other concerns and in the long run a harsh upbringing would keep the boy's inevitable fame from going to his head as well as build the character Harry would need to play his part in fulfilling the prophecy. Moreover, the taint of being married to a traitor would also prevent Karen Black from gaining custody of the boy.

Little did Dumbledore know that at that very moment, Harry Potter was nowhere near Little Whinging or his hateful muggle relatives who barely even knew that he existed. And because of Dumbledore's three full-time jobs—Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW—it would be many, many years before Dumbledore even realized that his plans for Harry Potter had gone off the rails before they'd even begun.


	2. The Very Definitely Complete Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where people with reality warping powers still mostly act like mindless sheep.

Nearly ten years had passed since Harry Potter had been rescued from the Dursley's front step, and Harry's life had taken a very different turn than it would have if he'd been left there. Instead of being neglected and forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs, Harry grew up loved with his godmother and godsister, knowing about magic and having his abilities encouraged. But life was still far from perfect as Sirius Black unjustly imprisoned despite numerous challenges and appeals by Karen's barrister.

Outwardly their house appeared to be a perfectly ordinary house in a perfectly ordinary muggle suburban neighborhood in South East England, with neighbors who were all perfectly ordinary people with no idea that the three of them had magical powers. Which is not to say that they weren't considered just a bit odd by those neighbors, as Karen never seemed at a loss for money despite being—for almost all intents and purposes—a full-time single mother, never asked for help babysitting, rarely socialized and almost never had company. But the reason for the latter two was blatantly obvious once you went inside as all the pictures on the walls were not muggle stills, but animated with magic. Some of those pictures showed a wiry raven-haired boy with green eyes, and a slender dark-haired girl with sea-blue eyes—showed them riding bikes, playing at the fair, and being hugged and kissed by Karen; others showed Sirius Black and Harry's dead parents—at their weddings and with their newborns.

Today it was festooned with banners and balloons as it was a special occasion. Karen, Elizabeth, and the Tonks stood around Harry singing an age-old song:

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday Dear Harry! Happy Birthday to you!" Harry grinned and turned his attention to the cake in front of him with eleven candles.

"Go on," Nymphadora said, "Make a wish and blow it out." Harry hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and blew out the candles to a chorus of applause. Karen removed the candles and set to cutting and serving the cake.

While they were eating Elizabeth started setting presents in front of Harry. His present from his godmother was a two-way mirror so they could stay in contact when he and Lizzie went off to Hogwarts in another month. From Lizzie he received a dragonhide wand holster and belt. Andromeda gave him a book titled 'Curses and Countercurses by Professor Vindictus Viridian' and Ted gave him a Mokeskin Pouch with a belt attachment. Nymphadora, who had just graduated from Hogwarts and was about to start her Auror training, gave him a book whose title he read aloud, "Book of Potions by Zygmunt Budge?" Harry was familiar with the name for he was listed on a Chocolate Frog Card as a famous and notorious Potioneer and Alchemist who had invented, among other things, Felix Felicas.

"I just spent seven _years_ taking Potions from Snape," Nymphadora explained, "although it's not on the book list, there's no way I would have even gotten into Snape's N.E.W.T level course—let alone actually passed—without that book and from what I hear every Slytherin student owl-orders a copy the day after their Sorting."

"It used to be on the book list," Andromeda added, "when old Slughorn was the Potions Master, because half of it is about brewing and safety procedures—information that the Jigger book mostly omits because its assumes that the reader already knows all that."

"I see," Harry said though he did not understand why Snape would drop the book if it was that important, especially if he was apparently still expecting his students to know it's information.

(*)

Diagon Alley was, Harry decided, a very odd looking place as many buildings had bizarre architecture that only stood because of magic. Their first stop was Madam Malkins and in the back also being fitted was a boy with a pale, pointed face.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," Harry and Elizabeth said.

"My father's next door buying books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy in a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own brooms?"

"No," said Harry. They lived in a muggle neighborhood and so that wasn't advisable.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry repeated.

"I do," the boy claimed, "Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"I'm hoping for Gryffindor," Harry said.

The boy's eyed widened slightly and turned slightly towards Elizabeth, who said, "Also Gryffindor."

"I'll be in Slytherin," the boy said, "all my family has been. Can't imagine being in Hufflepuff, I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"My mum was a Hufflepuff," Elizabeth snapped "And I hope that you do leave just so that we don't have to deal with a spoiled brat like you."

The boy sneered. "Who are to dare speak to me like that? What's your surnames?"

Thankfully they were saved from answering when Madam Malkin said. "That's you done, my dears," and they hopped down from the footstools and left with their clothes.

At another clothing shop they bought dragonhide gloves, parchment from still another shop but not quills or ink.

"It's not on the list," said Karen, "I certainly don't expect you to learn calligraphy and I'll make sure you have lots of pens."

They each got a "Pewter cauldron, size 2" from the cauldron shop, trunks from the trunk shop, collapsible telescopes, scales and crystal phials from the generic equipment shop, a basic selection of potion ingredients from the Apothecary, and their books at Flourish and Botts.

Finally they arrived at Ollivander's wandshop.

As they stepped inside a tinkling bell rang from somewhere deeper inside the shop. It was very small place, with only a single spindly chair; Harry had the strange sensation of having entered a very strict library. Thousands of narrow boxes were piled behind the counter, neatly right up to the ceiling.

An old man stepped out from behind the stacks of boxes and walked over.

"Karen Hayes Black; I remember you. Rowan and Unicorn hair, 11 and ½ inches, pliant. And…ahh yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes; it seems only yesterday she was in here herself buying her wand. Willow and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, swishy; good for charm work." Ollivander moved closer to Harry, who felt a but unnerved by his silver eyes. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand, dragon heartstring core, eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard of course." They were almost nose to nose now. "And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger and Harry drew back several steps.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a half inches, Yew and phoenix feather; a powerful wand, very powerful, and one that did so many terrible things." Ollivander shook his head, straightened up and moved on, "And you must be Mrs. Blacks' daughter…Elizabeth, that's the name isn't it?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said quietly, unusually subdued, "How did you know my name?"

"Everyone in Diagon Alley heard the news of your birth," Ollivander replied, "Your father was quite ecstatic. Dogwood and Unicorn hair, thirteen and a quarter inches; a very playful wand. I never would have expected him to do what he did."

"He _didn't!_ " Karen hissed. Mr. Ollivander merely shrugged and pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket.

"What are your wand arms?"

"I'm right-handed," Harry said.

"As am I," said Elizabeth.

"Hold out your arms please." They did so and Ollivander set the tape measure to measure beach of them in turn, from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to knee, knee to armpit and then around their heads. As it did so, Ollivander started flitting around the shelves taking down boxes, saying: "Every Ollivander wand uses one of three cores: unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are the same; and, of course, you will never get as good results from another wizard's wand. That will do." The tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor and Ollivander set some boxes on the counter. "Right then, Ms. Black, try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches, nice and flexible."

Elizabeth took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once. "Maple and Phoenix feather, seven inches, quite whippy, try—," Elizabeth tried and had hardly raised it when it too was snatched back. "no, no, here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and half inches, springy." She tried, and tried and tried; the pile of rejected wands mounted higher and higher, but the more Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. "A tricky customer, eh? Well, hmm…here we go, Cedar and Unicorn hair, unbending, 11 inches, give it a try.

Elizabeth took and this time there was a response; the wand shot off red sparks and Ollivander clapped. "Excellent, excellent. Now, your turn Mr. Potter. Go ahead, grab one from the pile, might as well start there." Harry grabbed one at random and waved it around; when nothing happened, he set it down again and tried another. And another. And another. Mr. Olliander started getting excited all over again.

Ollivander thrust another at him, "here try this, unusual combination—Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry took the wand and again nothing happened. Ollivander got down two more boxes and set them on the counter "Yew and Phoenix feather, 11 inches, unbending." Harry tried it and again got response at all; Ollivander snatched it back and handed over another wand, this one the color of ivory: "Aspen and Phoenix Feather, Reasonably Supple, 10 inches.

Harry took this wand and immediately felt a sudden warmth in his fingers; he raised the wand above his head and sent forth a stream of red and gold sparks.

"Oh bravo," Ollivander cried, "Very good and also…very curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked. Ollivander held up the holly wand and said, "The phoenix whose feather is in this wand only gave one other feather, and that feather was in the wand which gave you that scar. While this wand," Ollivander held up the Yew wand, "is made from wood of the same tree; yet both rejected you. And that it is an aspen wand instead that chose you is most interesting, for they are quite well suited to martial magic. In fact, your Grandfather Fleamont also used an Aspen wand and with it became one of the best duelists of his day."

"I'm not surprised," Harry replied, "With a name like that almost everyone he met would have made fun of him."

"Unfortunately yes," said Ollivander.

They each paid seven galleons for their wands, then slipped them into their wand holsters.

"But we haven't been to the pet store," Elizabeth protested when her mother started leading them back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Pets are not required," Karen replied firmly.

"Not even owls?" Harry asked.

"Hogwarts has an entire parliament of owls," said Karen, "And you have your two-way mirrors. How much mail do you really expect to receive? Or do you have penpals I don't know about?"

"What about if we make friends and want to keep in touch next summer?" Elizabeth persisted.

"If and when that happens," Karen said, "then I may get you your own owls. Right now, however, you don't need them and pets are a major responsibility."

Her tone made it amply clear that the discussion was over; both Harry and Elizabeth sighed but accepted her decision.

(*)

August flew by surprisingly fast. Harry spent much of it reading and rereading his books, especially Budge's book but also his parent's copies of their textbooks—comparing the differences between editions. Some of the time there was more information in his versions, those times when there was less Harry copied the missing information down on a piece of parchment and stuck it into the book at the relevant page. Harry also noticed and copied annotations and edits that his parents had made to their own books, none of which was in the later edition; his mother's potion books were particularly marked up and also included several spells that Harry copied down separately.

Finally September 1st came and they Flooed to Platform 9 ¾. Pushing their way through the chattering crowd toward the scarlet train, they finally paused at the edge of the platform. "Well, this is it," Karen said. She gave Harry and Elizabeth each a hug and a kiss on the cheek, "Good luck, study hard, and stay safe. I love you both.

"Love you too, mum," Harry and Elizabeth replied. With their trunks having been already shrunken by her and placed in their pockets, they climbed aboard the train, found an empty compartment and sat down.

The compartment door soon opened, a red-haired boy stood just outside.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, "Everywhere else is full."

"Sure," Harry replied and the boy came inside and sat down opposite of Harry and Elizabeth.

"I'm Harry, this is Elizabeth," Harry introduced and Ron nodded.

"Nice to meet you," he said, "First time at Hogwarts?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yeah, you?"

"Yeah, but I've got three older brothers at Hogwarts—Percy who's a prefect and the twins Fred and George, plus two brothers who have already left—Bill's graduated and Charlie is finishing his studies abroad—and a younger sister, Ginny, who will be starting next year."

"Must be nice to have lots of siblings," Harry mused.

Ron shrugged, looking a bit gloomy. "Sometimes, I guess," he admitted.

They were interrupted twice during the trip; first by the trolley lady from whom Harry and Elizabeth bought a variety of sweets; the second time was by a girl with bushy brown hair, brown eyes and rather large front teeth; she was already wearing her school uniform.

"Excuse me," she said, "have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one."

"No, we haven't," Ron said. "Now go away."

"I was only asking," the girl snapped at him.

"Sorry," Elizabeth said with a smile. "We haven't seen a toad, but we'll keep an eye out."

The girl returned her smile. "Thank you, you'd better get into your robes, we're nearly at Hogwarts." Harry and Elizabeth nodded and the girl left; they turned to glare at Ron.

"What?"

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" Elizabeth snipped before leaving. Harry sighed and also left to get changed.

The train shuddered as it came to a halt at the Hogsmeade Station. A large man named Hagrid, who was holding a lantern, called over all the first year students to the boats and took them across the lake to the castle where they were met by a stern looking older witch who introduced herself as the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "When you enter the Great Hall you will be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. This is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your houses will be like your family; you will have classes with them, sleep in your house dormitories and spend free time in your house common rooms. Each house has a noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While at Hogwarts your triumphs will earn house points, while rule breaking will lose points; at the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup—a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. Please wait here for a moment." She left them on the steps for a minute or two, then returned, "Please follow me."

McGonagall led them into the Great Hall.

It was a magnificent place, lit by thousands of floating candles, with four long tables that had the rest of the students as well as a one higher table at the front that had the faculty. Sitting in the middle of that table was an old man in garish purple robes, with a long beard. Harry recognized him from the Chocolate Frog card as Albus Dumbledore.

The ceiling was dotted with stars; the bushy-haired brunette from before whispered behind him that it was enchanted to look like the sky outside, something she had read in _Hogwarts, A History_. They stopped in front of a battered looking wizard hat.

Professor McGonagall stepped aside and unrolled a scroll. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbot, Hannah."  
A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled to the front, put on the hat and sat down. After a moment it shouted: "Hufflepuff."

The Hufflepuff table cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down there.

"Black, Elizabeth." McGonagall did a double take and there as much muttering throughout the great hall as the Elizabeth walked forward with a smirk on her face. She ignored the muttering and put the hat on. Another moment and then: "Gryffindor!"

Now it was the Gryffindor table's turn to applaud, though with varying levels of enthusiasm, as she walked over and took a seat.

"Bones, Susan."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Boot, Terry."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Brocklehurst, Mandy."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Brown, Lavender."  
"Gryffindor."  
"Bulstrode, Millicent."  
"Slytherin."  
"Corner, Michael."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Cornfoot, Stephen."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Crabbe, Vincent."  
"Slytherin."  
"Davis, Tracey."  
"Slytherin."  
"Dunbar, Fay."  
"Gryffindor."  
"Entwhistle, Kevin."  
"Ravenclaw."

Harry began to notice that the amount of time each Sorting took varied. "Finch-Fletchley, Justin" went to "Hufflepuff" almost immediately while "Finnegan, Seamus" sat on the stool for almost a full minute before the Hat shouted: "Gryffindor."

"Goldstein, Anthony."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Goyle, Gregory."  
"Slytherin."  
"Granger, Hermione."

The bushy-haired brunette almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"Gryffindor," the hat shouted.  
"Greengrass, Daphne."  
"Slytherin."  
"Hopkins, Wayne."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Jones, Megan."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Li, Su."  
"Ravenclaw."

"Longbottom, Neville." Neville's Sorting took the longest so far and when the hat finally shouted "Gryffindor," Neville ran off still wearing it and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag," who went to "Ravenclaw."

"Macmillan, Ernie."  
"Hufflepuff."

"Malfoy, Draco." The pale boy from Madam Malkin's swaggered forward and the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed: "Slytherin." Malfoy went to join Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

"Malon, Roger."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Moon, Lillian."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Nott, Theodore."  
"Slytherin."  
"Parkinson, Pansy."  
"Slytherin."  
"Patil, Padma."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Patil, Parvati."  
"Gryffindor."  
"Perks, Sally-Anne."  
"Hufflepuff."

"Potter, Harry." Harry stepped, ignoring the whisperings that suddenly broke out all over the hall.  
' _Well, well,' said a small voice in his ear, 'this is difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, yes, but also a keen mind, there's talent and a nice thirst to prove yourself; yet I also see in you the potential to be utterly ruthless in the protection of those you care about. What would you say to Slytherin, hmm?_ '  
'If it has people like Draco Malfoy, no thank you.'  
' _Hmm, yes, that would be a problem I see. Very well then, better be_ GRYFFINDOR!" Harry took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table, receiving the loudest cheer yet. Harry sat down next to Elizabeth and turned his gaze toward and across the High Table as the Sorting continued.

"Prewett, Mafalda." Mafalda had barely placed the hat on her head when it screamed out, "Slytherin."  
"Rivers, Oliver."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Roper, Sophie."  
"Gryffindor."  
"Runcorn, Andromache."  
"Slytherin."  
"Smith, Zacharias."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Spinks, Ashley."  
"Hufflepuff."  
"Thomas, Dean."  
"Gryffindor."  
"Turpin, Lisa."  
"Ravenclaw."  
"Weasley, Ronald." Ron took a seat and put the hat on his head, and it shouted out, "Gryffindor." Harry clapped with the rest as Ron took a seat across from him.  
"Zabini, Blaise."  
"Slytherin."

Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll and took the Sorting Hat and stool away.

Professor Dumbledore stood. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have only a few announcements: First years should take note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors and that there is a long list of banned items on the door to his office. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term; anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. Finally, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is under renovation and is thus out of bounds. Now, let us eat." Dumbledore clapped his hands and food appeared on the tables, much to the amazement of the first years.

"Why didn't you tell me that you're Harry Potter?" Ron asked. Harry just shrugged.

"I didn't want to," he said and started piling food on his plate.

"So, you're Harry Potter," Hermione said. "I've read a lot about you."

(*)

Albus Dumbledore took a sip of his glass, using the gesture to inconspicuously look at Harry, who was sitting between Miss Black and Miss Granger, chatting animatedly with them and laughing at something one of them had said. In some distant corner of his mind an alarm was going off, insisting that something was somehow subtly wrong with the way Harry was interacting with Miss Black considering that they shouldn't have known each other prior to today. He also knew that something odd had happened a month ago but it was hard to remember because he had neglected to write it down and, to his perspective, it had actually been three months ago due to his use of a time-turner to repeat every day twice. It was the only way to keep up with all of his jobs and that wore away at a person.

More than once he had considered stepping down from the other two jobs and just being the Headmaster, which was the only one of those jobs he truly enjoyed, yet he feared what would happen if he stepped out of politics—keeping the bigots in check was a herculean and largely thankless task for they never ceased looking for new ways to subtly undermine muggleborn rights. Never anything blatantly obvious of course, just a constant slow drip often cloaked in other agendas or masked by patronizing expressions of false concern.

British muggleborns had no idea just how great they had it compared to the rest of the world; in so many other countries they were blatantly second-class citizens and barely tolerated. The situation was worst in the United States of America as despite the repeal of Rappaport's Law in 1965, muggles-or No-Majs as they were called across the pond-were still viewed as the outright enemy due to the Scourers and thus muggleborns were taken from their families after their first accidental magic incident and raised as wards of the magical government, with their muggle families and friends getting Obliviated.

If not for Dumbledore's tireless efforts, that situation would have been gradually mirrored here as well in the ten years since Voldemort's defeat. No, he could not step down now or anytime soon.

(*)

After the feast Percy led the Gryffindor first years up several flights of stairs, until they reached the seventh level; at the end of the corridor was a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy said and the portrait swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall. They scrambled inside to a cozy round room full of squashy armchairs. The girls went up one flight of stairs, the boys another. At the top of the spiral staircase was door marked for first years, with four-poster beds hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up.

Too tired to talk much, Harry pulled on his pajamas, climbed into bed and was asleep at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So in case you don't want to bother counting, there are 44 students in Harry's year: 11 Gryffindors, 10 Ravenclaws, 12 Hufflepuffs, and 11 Slytherins; 21 are purebloods, 13 are halfbloods, 8 are muggleborns, which fits with the 50/30/20 ratio that is the general rule of thumb for the Wizarding World. Even if you stripped it down to just the canonical 40 that ratio would still be maintained.


	3. First Classes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where students stay up until well past midnight on a Wednesday. With classes the next morning. Yeah, not a very good idea so I fixed it for this fic. Also I owe credit to SilentlyWatches who pointed out in 'Faery Heroes' that Umbridge's course aims were actually ideal for first years.

The next morning at breakfast McGonagall handed out course schedules; the first-years, Harry noted, had the first period of every day free. McGonagall explained this as being an allowance so that they could learn their way around the castle. But when she came around to Harry and Elizabeth, she said to them:

"Mister Potter, Miss Black, the Headmaster would like to see you in his office, right after breakfast."

"Did he say why, Professor?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, he did not," McGonagall replied. "Come to me when you are finished and I will escort you there."

Harry was suddenly filled with dread. What reason could Professor Dumbledore possibly have for wanting to see them on the first day? He remembered his godmother telling them that Dumbledore had wanted him to be raised his mother's muggle relatives, the Dursley's, and that as far as she knew he still thought he had been.

McGonagall led them up to the seventh floor. As they approached the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office, Harry's sense of dread started to increase but he forced himself to keep walking.

"Sherbert Lemon," McGonagall said. The gargoyle moved aside and McGonagall led them up a moving spiral staircase, and knocked on the oak door to Dumbledore's voice.

"Enter."

The oak door opened into a large circular room; there was window facing east with a view of some of the nearby mountains and also the Quidditch Pitch. Most of the wall space, however, was taken up by portraits of previous Headmasters; there was also a shelf behind the Headmaster's desk that had the Sorting Hat. Another wall had a fireplace. The desk itself was enormous and claw-footed, its polished surface almost completely covered with papers and folders, though there was also a silver inkpot with a phoenix-feather quill.

In addition to the chair behind the desk, two more were in front of it. Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his chair and up close he looked even older than Harry had thought, with an ancient-looking and heavily worn face with deep creases.

"Thank you Minerva," Dumbledore said, "Mister Potter, Miss Black, please be seated."

"What is this about, Professor?" Harry asked as they sat in the chairs.

"I noticed last night that you seemed _quite_ friendly with Miss Black, Mister Potter."

"So what if I am?" Harry asked.

"I fail to see how that is _any_ business of yours, _Headmaster_ ," Elizabeth snapped.

"It is my business, Miss Black," Dumbledore said, "because I am concerned about Mister Potter's safety."

"Good for you," Elizabeth retorted, "but what that has to do with _anything?"_

"Mister Potter, are you aware that Miss Black's father betrayed your parents to Voldemort."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and scowled at the Headmaster. Harry sat up, crossed his own arms, and said, "I am aware that he is _accused_ of having done so," Harry said neutrally, "I personally, however, do not believe it."

McGonagall looked at Harry incredulously, almost unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Mister Potter," Dumbledore said, "I spoke with your parents only days before they went into hiding and they told me that they had chosen Sirius Black to be their Secret-Keeper. Do you know what that means? Are you familiar with the Fidelius Charm?"

Harry simply nodded.

"Well my _mum_ tells me," Elizabeth snapped, "that the Potters were running a double bluff and deliberately kept you out of the loop because you'd replaced Professor Slughorn with a Death Eater."

"Professor Snape is no longer a Death Eater," said Dumbledore, "I trust him with my life."

"My mum _doesn't_ trust him," said Elizabeth, "and according to her, neither does my dad nor did Harry's parents. After all, weren't they huge enemies while they were all students? I remember her saying something to that effect."

"And who does your mother _claim_ was the Potter's Secret Keeper, Miss Black?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Oh, of course," Dumbledore said with a confident smile. "How convenient to blame a dead man. Even if all you have said is true, which I have no reason to believe, your father is still a mass murder. You are aware of this, Mister Potter, that he killed thirteen people with a single curse?"

"He is _accused_ of killing thirteen people with a single curse," Harry corrected.

"Unfortunately," Elizabeth said, "all the witnesses had their memories altered to preserve the Statute of Secrecy, so now no one knows what they _really_ saw."

"You know all this, Mister Potter, and still you trust her?"

"Funny, I could ask _you_ the same question about _Snape_."

" _Professor_ Snape, Mister Potter."

"I fail to understand how you can sit there and on the one hand insist that I respect a man whom even you has admitted was a Death Eater, and yet on the other hand insist that I _cannot_ trust the daughter of a man who has merely been _accused_ of being a Death Eater. Whatever Sirius Black did or didn't do, _she_ cannot be held responsible for it. But _Snape,_ on the other hand, has not been held accountable for _any_ of _his_ crimes."

"You should nonetheless strive to find it in yourself to forgive Professor Snape for his actions and respect at least his position," said Dumbledore.

Harry and Elizabeth suddenly smirked.

"So let me get this straight, Headmaster," Elizabeth said, "You want _us_ to forgive Snape for the crimes he _definitely_ committed, and yet you _aren't_ willing to be forgiving toward my father for crimes that he only _might_ have committed."

"The situations are not parallel," Dumbledore insisted.

"All hypocrites say that," Elizabeth sneered.

"Miss Black!" McGonagall exclaimed, shocked that anyone would have such daring and nerve to speak to Albus Dumbledore that way.

"And as long as my father is unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban," Elizabeth continued, "I will show Snape only as much respect as he shows _me."_ And if even half of what her mother had said proved to be true, that would be 'none at all'.

"May we go to our first classes now, Professor?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore let out sigh, then nodded.

They got up and headed down the staircase. Only when they were safely out of earshot of the gargoyle did they finally burst into laughter.

"He doesn't know," Harry said, "He still doesn't know anything. We were all worried about nothing."

Back in his office, Dumbledore placed the memory of the recent conversation into his pensieve and replayed it to see if he had missed anything. Miss Black had a lot of pent-up anger and clearly didn't care about her father's crimes, only that he'd been taken away from her; that was plainly evident with that ridiculous scenario she'd presented. Dumbledore did not believe for a moment that Lily and James would actually have left him out of the loop, regardless of their personal feelings about his hiring of Severus; that was utterly preposterous. Then there was Mister Potter's attitude-unusually mature for a boy of his age, though it probably stemmed from an unwillingness to treat others the way the Dursley's had undoubtedly treated him. That was probably why they'd seemed so unusually familiar with each other and also why they had been so defensive, Dumbledore decided, she'd taken the risk and been completely honest with Harry from the start and had been deeply touched when he'd nonetheless accepted her and had also been deeply touched by her honesty and her willingness to risk being alienated. So, this wouldn't be a problem just yet, though Dumbledore would have to make sure to talk with them again before the next summer break. Harry probably wouldn't want to go back to the Dursley's now that he'd met someone else willing and eager to take him in; Dumbledore would just have to explain when the time came why it was necessary. His suspicions now comfortably eased, Dumbledore buried himself in his work.

(*)

Hogwarts, Harry noticed, operated very much on the "sink or swim, throw 'em into the deep section' mindset. Even with the free period, it was hard enough leanring your way around without shifting staircases, trick steps, and doors that either didn't always open when you wanted or that weren't really doors at all; the ghosts, Peeves, Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris just made it even worse. And in Harry's case it was harder still because everywhere he went people gawked and whispered.

Their first classes, Double Charms before Lunch and Double Transfiguration afterward, each opened with a long and mostly dry lecture about the nature of magic and the theory behind spellcasting. Harry was wasn't the only student who'd brought pens, and it almost got them into trouble on the first day.

"Mister Potter, Miss Black, Miss Granger, Mister Thomas, Mister Finnegan, Miss Roper," McGonagall said, naming fully half of the fourteen Gryffindor first years who were either muggleborn, muggle raised, or who'd had a mixed upbringing; that was a deceptive and atypical ratio, however, as there only 8 other students out of the 53 total students in their year—all muggleborn and split evenly between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—who would even know what a pen was. "Why are you using muggle pens?"

There was a chorus of answers.

"I don't know how to use quills," said Sophie Roper, a short girl with red hair worn in plaits, blue eyes, light skin, and a very neatly-kept uniform.

"Yeah, neither do I," Dean Thomas agreed.

"My mum never bothered to teach me," said Seamus Finnegan.

"Nor did mine," Elizabeth added.

"Muggle schools don't teach calligraphy," Hermione said.

"I don't care," said McGonagall. "You are not at a muggle school anymore, you are at Hogwarts; you will use quills or you won't write. And I had better not receive any assignments written in pen."

Later in the class McGonagall set them to trying to turn a match into a needle. Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett were the first students to make the change, almost at the same time, earning points for Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively—though Harry and Elizabeth managed soon afterward.

"That's just outrageous," Hermione ranted afterwards once they were safely outside the classroom. "It's unfair and backwards. They didn't even put it on the shopping list, just expected us to know. _Quills_ , what nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Ron interjected. "It's part of our culture; it's _tradition_."

"It's stupid and a bloody waste of time."

"You're daft," Ron exclaimed. He was not, Harry noticed, the only one uncomfortable about Hermione's attitude. Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Fay were each giving them odd looks. Without even really intending to, the Gryffindor students split apart into two groups-the purebloods and the muggle-raised, with the latter lagging behind a few paces.

"My parents could barely afford all of the other supplies," Sophie Roper said quietly, "This is just absurd."

"Let me guess," a new voice chimed in. The six Gryffindors turned to see an older Gryffindor boy approaching them, holding a box under one arm. "McGonagall caught you using pens and read you the riot act."

"It's not the first time?" Harry asked.

"Happens every year," the boy replied. "But fortunately, there is another solution."

"Which is?" Elizabeth asked the question that was on all of their tongues.

The boy opened the box; at first glance, the contents appeared to be six ordinary quills.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Hermione asked.

"No joke," the boy replied, taking one out to show them. "Don't let appearances fool you; these may look like quills, but they are actually calligraphy pens; you can use them just like pens and no one can tell them or the result apart from a normal quill, especially if you use that cursive we all hated learning. They're made and sold by Seltman's Writing Tools in Diagon Alley, created and owned by a muggleborn like yourself who refused to see future generations subjected to quills."

"But won't Professor McGonagall be...suspicious?" Hermione asked, taking one of the quillpens to examine more closely. "I mean we just told her we didn't know how to use quills."

"No she won't," the boy assured them "Not unless you are foolish enough to remind her; that's the real trick. She's got three hundred students to worry about and, like I said, this happens every year; by your next class with her she will have forgotten completely."

"Okay, I'm sold," Elizabeth said, taking a quillpen. The others all did likewise.

"Remember," the boy said, holding up his index finger. "Don't say anything about this to anyone who isn't also muggle-raised, not even your pureblood friends; they might tattle and ruin it for us." The six first-years all solemnly nodded, remembering Ron's reaction and the weird looks the others had been giving them.

Astronomy class met on Wednesdays and on Friday night for stargazing. Herbology was three times a week for first years, in the greenhouses behind the castle. History of Magic was easily the most boring classes; it didn't have to be, but it's teacher—a ghost named Professor Binns—somehow managed to make even bloody wars sound totally boring. Indeed, the school legend was that Professor Binns had actually bored himself to death and then gotten up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind. Were it not for the fact that Binns appeared through the blackboard at the start of every class, students would have suspected that Binns didn't even realize that he was dead.

One of the two classes Harry had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was taught by Professor Quirrel; although he wore a turban and made the classroom smell strongly of garlic, Harry was nonetheless fascinated by Quirrel's opening lecture.

"Before you can be taught how to defend yourselves against the Dark Arts, you must first understand what the Dark Arts even are. Who can tell me Trimble's definition of the Dark Arts without referring to the book?"

Hermione's hand shot straight up; so did Mafalda's, Harry's and Elizabeth's.

"Miss Granger," Quirrel said.

"Trimble defines the Dark Arts as 'any magics that harm others as their sole purpose."

"Correct," said Quirrel, "take five points for Gryffindor; now take note class, although this definition may seem broad, it is actually quite narrow as there many magics that can be used to harm others without that being their only or even their main use. Miss Prewett, can you give me an example?"

"In Transfiguration we are learning to turn matchsticks into needles; by itself that it is fairly harmless, but a skilled enough wizard or witch could turn dozens of matchsticks into needles and then banish them at a person; that _would_ harm them but it would not be considered dark magic."

"An excellent example, Miss Prewett, take five points for Slytherin. Almost any spell or potion can be turned to harm others but only a select group of magics have that as their one and only purpose; now, another question: is the use of the Dark Arts inherently evil? Mafalda, Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth, Ron and Neville all raised their hands at this.

"Mister Weasley."

"Yes, they are."

"Could you elaborate on that please?"

"Well…" Ron furrowed his brow, "They're intended to harm people and harming people is wrong so…er…"

"Mister Potter," Quirrel said, "Could you help him out?"

"We have learned in our classes that many spells have an emotional component, so only those spells requiring the use of negative emotions like hate could really be considered evil."

"Precisely," said Quirrel, "Many of the spells classified as 'Dark Arts' have no emotional component at all and could be legally used to defend oneself, though that is still generally frowned upon by the Ministry. However, as you are merely first years we will be focusing on _defensive_ magic, specifically on understanding the principles of using magic defensively, how to recognize situations where magic can be legally used to defend yourselves, and placing the use of defensive magic in a practical context. In later years you will move up to learning about the use of magic _offensively_ because, as the old saying goes, the best defense is often a good offense."

That afternoon in Herbology Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett started engaging in one-upmanship, each seeking to outdo with their knowledge and smarts; this happened again the next morning in Charms, became even more intense in Transfiguration and by the time the lunch bell rang the two girls looked almost ready to strangle each other.

Ron was about the only person who found the budding rivalry even remotely hilarious.

"I mean come on," he said to the other Gryffindors when Hermione was out of earshot on her way to the library, "they're getting all bent out of shape over _grades_ , how is that not funny?"

"Grades are important, Ron," Elizabeth snapped.

"Whatever for?" Now everyone looked at Ron, momentarily rendered speechless.

"What do you intend to be when you graduate, Ron?" Harry finally asked

Ron just shrugged and said, "The Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, of course," Everyone except the muggleborns snickered. Ron flushed angrily, "What the bloody hell is so funny about that?"

Fay Dunbar replied, "Well, if you want to play for those losers—,"

"—the Cannons are not _losers!_ " Ron exclaimed heatedly.

Neville said "they're the worst team in the league, everyone knows it."

"I think it's safe to say," Elizabeth finished, "that the rest of us have _much_ higher ambitions than that, and to achieve them we'll need better than merely passing grades." Ron just looked dumbfounded at the notion of working any harder than was absolutely necessary.

The other class Harry was looking forward to was Potions which was a double period with Slytherin on Friday morning. Harry got his first piece of mail that morning and from a most unexpected source.

"Well?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's from Hagrid," Harry said, "he's invited me to tea this afternoon to talk about my first week at school."

"Why would the groundskeeper invite a first-year—or any student for that matter—over for tea?" Hermione asked.

"How should I know?" Harry shrugged and held up his hands. He did have a theory, however as his godmother had told him about Hagrid's involvement in Dumbledore's plan to have him raised by his mother's magic-hating muggle relatives.

"Are you going to go?" Elizabeth asked. Harry thought about then, then nodded. "I want to come along."

"Sure, why not?" Harry got out a pen and wrote 'okay' on the note and gave it back to the owl. He was admittedly curious as to what Hagrid wanted to talk about, but knew that he would have to be careful with what he said.

In Potions it was obvious by the end of the class that Snape _hated_ Harry.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," Snape began in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word, "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Elizabeth exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewettt were on the edge of their seats and looked desperate to start proving that they weren't dunderheads.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione and Mafalda's hands shot into the air.

Harry was suddenly _very_ grateful for having read not only Budge's book but also his mother's annotated textbooks, for that study allowed him to say: "Absolutely nothing by itself, but if you also added a sloth brain, the juice from 13 sopophorus beans, valerian root, _and_ stirred the mixture properly, you'd get the Draught of Living Death."

Hermione and Mafalda's hands dropped and the girls both turned to stare at him for providing an answer that was far more complete than what either of them had been prepared to give.

"And can you explain the purposes of each of those ingredients?"

"All except the sloth brain have sedative properties; the sloth brain is there as a sympathetic thickener." Now even Hermione was staring at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

"And how is the Draught of Living Death reversed?"

"With the Wiggenweld Potion," Harry said calmly. _'I can do this all day, Snivellus'._

Snape's face turned so red that for a moment Harry thought he was going to have a stroke, but then Snape snarled to the rest of the class: "Well why aren't you writing all that down?" There was a sudden rummaging for parchment and writing implements.

Things did not improve as the Potions lesson continued. Snape set them to mixing a Boil Cure Potion, then started sweeping around watching the students weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except for Malfoy.

Neville somehow managed to melt his cauldron and flood the classroom—forcing the whole class to stand on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched by the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville just whimpered as boils continued to pop up on his face. "Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Elizabeth. "You—Potter and Black—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong did you? That's five points you've lost Gryffindor. _Each!_ "

"That's not fair!" Elizabeth angrily retorted, "You can't blame us for someone else's mistake!"

"Your cheek just lost Gryffindor ten additional points, Miss Black." Snape sneered.

"Cheek?!" she exclaimed, "Why you—," She cut off abruptly when Harry kicked her shins from behind the cauldron. She closed her mouth, sat down and settled for just glaring at Snape. Once he was out of earshot, she whispered to Harry, "Well I guess we now know why our dads called him ' _Snivellus'_."

Harry snorted in agreement. Karen hadn't told them the full story of what had happened between Snape and their fathers, though it must have been nasty. And it still wasn't over yet; at the end of the class, Harry's Boil Cure Potion matched the textbook description almost perfectly but Snape took one look and pronounced it "barely passable"

Harry bit his tongue to hold back an angry retort of his own that would Snape would surely use as an excuse to flunk him instead; but it was hard, especially when Snape walked past Malfoy's potion without comment even though it was much too thin and giving off red smoke instead of the pink from Harry's cauldron, which Budge and Jigger both said was the ideal color of the potion for maximum effectiveness.

"I don't understand," Hermione said after they were safely out of earshot of the dungeon, "First he asks you a series of N.E.W.T level questions only to get angry when you know the answers, then he blames you for Neville's mistake and finally he pronounces your potion—which easily deserved an 'O'— 'barely passable'. What is his _problem_?"

"My and Lizzie's dads were his classmates," Harry replied. "and enemies."

" _Bitter_ enemies," Elizabeth elaborated. "And he's obviously still holding a grudge." Even though James was dead and Sirius was in Azkaban.

Harry was _determined_ not to let Snape ruin an entire subject for him, especially not one that had not only been his mother's favorite but that Harry had enjoyed reading about almost as much as Defense. _'No_ ,' Harry thought, _'you want to blame me for the sins of my father, you bring it on Snivellus. I am going to be the best student in your class._ _My brewing is going to be so meticulous, so perfect, that you will have no choice but to give me an 'O'. And if you so much as sneeze into my cauldron,_ _I will_ find _an excuse to get you arrested and sent to Azkaban where you belong! In fact, I might as well start looking for one to have ready. And if I can't do that,_ _I will use every bit of fame I have to get you sacked even if I have to bribe the Minister of Magic himself!'_

"So, Harry," Hermione said "What is a 'sympathetic thickener', how do you know about them, and why isn't it mentioned in 'Magical Drafts and Potions'?"

"Because the author of that book," Harry said, "assumes that you also know all the information in," Harry reached into his bag and pulled out Budge's book, " _this book."_

"Book of Potions by Zygmunt Budge," Hermione said. She tried to grab it out of Harry's hand but he held it firm and returned it to his bag.

"There's a Flourish and Botts catalogue in the Common Room, order your own copy."

"Why isn't it on the book list?"

"It used to be," said Elizabeth, "before Snape came along."

Hermione frowned. "Why would he drop that book from the class list but still expect his students know everything in it?"

"Do you want to turn around and ask him?" Harry replied.

"On second thought," said Hermione. "I'll just order the book." There was a general murmur of agreement from everyone except Ron.

"Want to go meet Hagrid, Hermione?" Elizabeth asked that afternoon.

"Sure, why not," Hermione replied.

Ron also tagged along for some reason even though both Elizabeth and Hermione disliked him. They made their way across the grounds towards a small wooden house on the edge of the forest; Harry noted a crossbow and a pair of galoshes near the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside, following by several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice called out, "Back, Fang, back." Hagrid's face appeared in the crack as the pulled the door open. "Come on in," he said. "Back, Fang." The door opened wider to let them in as Hagrid pulled back an enormous black boarhound by the collar.

It was a one-room house, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle boiling on an open fire, and a massive bed with a patchwork quilt in a corner.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, finally letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at them and started licking their ears—clearly not as fierce as he looked or sounded.

They took seats and introduced themselves as Hagrid poured the boiling into a teapot to stoop, then set rock cakes in front of them on a plate—which proved to be just as hard as their namesake.

"Yer Sirius Black's daughter, aren't you?" Hagrid said to Elizabeth, tone darkening slightly. Ron suddenly moved as far away from her as possible.

"Yes, I am," Elizabeth said defiantly. "I know what everyone thinks of my father; personally I think its bollocks but my opinion obviously carries no weight with anyone, so can we just agree to disagree and move on?"

"Fair enough," Hagrid admitted, then poured their tea.

In between sips Harry started talking about their first lessons; he was delighted to hear Filch referred to as "that old git" and Hagrid wanting to introduce Fang to Mrs. Norris brought a chuckle to both of them. Then Harry started talking about Snape's lesson.

"Best not to worry about it," Hagrid said, "Snape doesn't like anybody, 'cept maybe his Slytherins."

"But he seemed to really hate me," Harry replied.

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

"I heard that it's because he hated my dad," Harry said.

"Where'd you hear that?" Hagrid asked. Harry just shrugged. He didn't want to lie to Hagrid, mostly because he wasn't that good at it. "There was bad blood between 'em, true enough," Hagrid finally said, "But I don't think he'd take it out on _ye._ "

"He asked Harry N.E.W.T. level questions and then punished us for somehow not being omniscient enough to stop _Neville_ from making a mistake _in his own potion_ ," Elizabeth exclaimed. "I mean, how can _we_ be held responsible for _his_ mistakes? How does that even make sense? If that's not carrying a grudge too far, then what is?"

Hagrid looked away slightly, having no answer to that. Then, in an obvious and deliberate change of subject, Hagrid engaged Ron in a conversation about his brothers—especially Charlie who was in Romania studying dragons, something Hagrid was apparently very interested in.

Harry noticed a cutting from the Daily Prophet lying on the table:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

"Some idiot broke into _Gringotts_?" Harry frowned. _'And on my birthday while we were in Diagon Alley no less; now what are the odds of_ that?'

"Yeah," Hagrid said just a bit too casually, "Amazing the crazy things some people do, isn't it?"

 _'_ _He knows something_ ' Harry realized. ' _He's involved somehow...'_ A sideways glance at Lizzie confirmed that she had reached the same conclusion.

They talked about it as they walked back to the castle after finishing their tea.

"It's not anything personal to him," Elizabeth said, "That house probably contains everything he owns and whatever his salary is, it wouldn't be worth breaking into Gringotts over."

"Agreed," Harry said. But that still left them with a mystery.


	4. Flying Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is asking, so I'll say it right here: Yes, Mafalda Prewett is related to Molly Weasley via her squib cousin whom nobody talks about.

"Okay, Harry," Hermione said as the two of them and Elizabeth left the Gryffindor Common Room to head towards the library. "I've ordered that book, now you've got some explaining to do."

 

"Excuse me?" Harry said.

"First, give me the cliffnotes version on sympathetic thickeners."

"In our very first Transfiguration class," Harry said, "what did Professor McGonagall say was one of the cornerstones of Transfiguration magic?"

Hermione thought back for a moment, then her eyes widened and she smacked her forehead. "Of course, the Law of Sympathy. It's one of the reasons why we started with turning matchsticks into needles. The more similar two things are, the easier it is to transform one into the other."

"The Law of Sympathy also applies to many potions, where ingredients with similar effects with reinforce one another; the first one or two ingredients in any potion are the base, the rest either strengthen the intended effect, counteract an undesirable effect, or ensure that it will have the proper consistency—or some combination of those things." said Harry, "Take the Draught of Living Death, for example; all but one of the ingredients is a natural sedative but each of them has one or more undesirable side-effects that the others counteract while still strengthening the intended effect, so why do we then add a brain taken from some poor sloth?"

"Because the sloth is the laziest animal in the world," Hermione agreed, "in fact it's so lazy that its very name became a synonym for laziness. And that would be a very sympathetic effect for a _sleeping potion_."

"It thickens the potion to the proper consistency without detracting from the intended effect," Harry agreed. "Whereas if we used some other thickener—like say shredded ginger—the potion would be weakened and also cause unwanted side-effects."

"Yes, that would make sense," said Hermione. "Now question two: I skimmed through the library copy of 'Advanced Potion Making' and the recipe there for Draught of Living Death only mentions _twelve_ sopophorus beans, but you said _thirteen_ and Snape didn't correct you. Why?"

"My mum was, if I may say so, an extremely smart woman," Harry said. "while she was a student she discovered a number of improvements to various potions, most of them only minor changes that nonetheless significantly improve their quality. If Voldemort hadn't killed her, I expect she would have eventually published a new potions textbook for all Hogwarts years that combined the three other books with her own discoveries."

"And because Snape was a classmate with your parents, he would have heard about her discoveries."

"Most likely, yes."

"Potter!" Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy standing in front of them, flanking on either side by Crabbe and Goyle."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"That was very impressive in Potions."

"So glad you think so," Harry said dryly, wondering what this was about.

"But fame and skill can only take you so far," said Malfoy, "if you truly want to get ahead, you don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that." Malfoy held out his hand.

"The wrong sort?" Harry asked. "And what exactly is the 'wrong sort' in your opinion?"

Malfoy gave Hermione a sneer. "Mudbloods—" Malfoy didn't get a chance to say any more, for the moment he spoke the word Elizabeth's right first came up and socked Malfoy in the nose, knocking him backwards into Crabbe and Goyle.

"We don't want anything to do with people who use foul language like that," Elizabeth declared.

Harry said, "You just insulted Hermione, my mother, and Lizzie's mother. So why don't you snakes slither back down into whatever hole you crawled out of?"

"You'd better watch yourselves," Malfoy snarled, "You just made a terrible mistake. My father will hear about this!"

"Oooh, I quiver with fear," Elizabeth sneered.

After the Slytherins had left Hermione asked, "What was that word he used? Why did it set you off like that?"

"It's our equivalent of the 'N' word," Harry explained.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh." That explained everything.

(*)

The second week of classes was no better than the first; although they had finally learned their way around, now they needed the extra time just to stay on top of all their work. As they started to move out of the purely theoretical work, Harry began reading and practicing the movements and incantations for the spells in 'Curses and Countercurses'. Most of them were beyond the reach of a first year but some of them he managed to make work.

In every class that Gryffindor and Slytherin shared, which was half of them, Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett continued to compete to see how many points each could earn in for their respective houses. In Transfiguration Hermione earned extra points for knowing about Switching Spells. In Charms Mafalda earned points for be able to describe the differences between pre-modern sorcery and modern wizardry and why the shift was made from staves to wands. Quirrel's subsequent Defense classes weren't nearly as interesting as the first one, mainly because Quirrel seemed quite timid and nervous—especially around Harry for some reason. In Potions Snape set them to brewing a simple Sleeping Potion; even though it wasn't a potion that tended to blow up when misbrewed, Harry still took even greater care at every step of process and did his best to simply ignore Snape as he prowled about the classroom. That didn't stop his phial of completed potion from somehow sliding off Snape's desk as Harry turned to leave but thankfully it was made of crystal instead of glass and so it just bounced instead of smashing. Harry spun around, glared at Snape for a moment, then picked up the phial and placed it back on the desk.

Friday afternoon had the first flying lesson and naturally it was Gryffindor and Slytherin paired together again. Harry had never expected to meet a boy he'd despise as much as Draco Malfoy who—when he wasn't being a spoiled brat, a bully, a foul-mouthed bigot or complaining about first-years not being allowed on the house Quidditch teams—told long and boastful stories about his prowess with a broom and he was not the only on to do so, Ron and Seamus did so as well.

Neville and Hermione were both exceptionally nervous about flying and Hermione managed to bore almost everyone stupid with flying tips she'd read about in books—except for Neville who hung on her every word, desperate for every scrap of help—but her lecture was finally interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Neville received a Remembrall from his grandmother, which promptly turned red indicating that he'd forgotten something. While he was trying to remember what he'd forgotten, Draco Malfoy walked by and grabbed the Remembrall out of his hands. Harry, Elizabeth and Ron all jumped to their feet, half-hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall was there in a flash and forced Malfoy to give it back.

That afternoon the Gryffindors and Slytherins were outside in front of twenty-two broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Madam Hooch, the flying instructor and Quidditch referee, watched them like a hawk as she taught them how to properly mount their brooms without sliding off the end. Harry, Elizabeth and Ron were delighted when Hooch told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now," said Hooch, "when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down." Hooch started a countdown but Neville accidentally pushed off early, sending him straight up like a bottle cork; then he slipped off of his broom and fell to the ground with a thump. Madam Hooch went and looked Neville over. "Broken wrist, I'd better take you to the Hospital wing." She rounded on the other students. "The rest of you had better stay on the ground, or I'll have you in detention faster than you can say 'Quidditch'."

After Hooch and Neville were gone, Draco Malfoy walked over and picked up the Remembrall. "Look what the clumsy lug dropped."

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry demanded.

"I think I'll hide it somewhere—maybe up a tree—."

"Give it here," Harry repeated but Malfoy had already leapt on his broom and took off. Harry mounted his own broom, ignoring Hermione's protests, and went after Malfoy. "Give it here," Harry called out as he faced a stunned Malfoy in midair. "Or I'll knock you off that broom."

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry leaned forward and shot towards Malfoy, who only barely got out of the way in time. "No Crabbe and Goyle to save your neck up here, Malfoy."

"Well, if you care so much, then catch it!" Malfoy threw the Remembrall high into the air and then zipped back to the ground.

Harry saw the Remembrall rise and then start to fall; he went into a steep dive, racing the ball—the wind whistling in his ears and mingling with the screams from the people below. Harry stretched out his hand and grabbed the Remembrall just barely in time to level out and land before hitting the ground.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Everyone spun around to see McGonagall bearing down on them. "Never in all of my time at Hogwarts have I ever see…" She shook her head. "Follow me now."

Harry gave the Remembrall to Hermione, then followed McGonagall inside, up the marble staircase and through the corridors, finally stopping outside of a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

A burly fifth-year boy came out of the Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Wood, this is Harry Potter; Potter, is this Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Wood, I have found you a Seeker." McGonagall's voice now bubbled with excitement. Harry's eyes widened. Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

(*)

"Seeker?" Elizabeth squealed and Harry nodded. "but this makes you the youngest Seeker—,"

"—in about a century," Harry said.

"But I thought first years weren't normally allowed to play Quidditch," Hermione said.

"Normally they aren't," said Harry, "But McGonagall decided to bend the rule in my case." According to her and Wood, the Gryffindor team hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since Charlie Weasley had left to study dragons midway through the previous school year.

"Your dad would be proud of you," said Elizabeth.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked

"My dad played Chaser," Harry said, "but he'd wanted to be Seeker and frequently played with a Snitch; drove my mum bonkers I'm told. Which reminds me," Harry fished out his two-way mirror, "Lady Snuffles," Harry said. Within seconds Karen's face appeared in the mirror.

"Harry," she said, "Good to see you. What's up?" Harry quickly relayed what had happened and, like Lizzie, Karen was quite exuberant at the news, finally asking. "What broomstick do you want?"

"A Nimbus 2000 please," Harry replied.

"I'll order you one tomorrow," Karen promised,

"Thank you."

"Just do your best and make us proud."

"I will."

They talked for a few more minutes about their classes and then about Snape.

"Sounds like he hasn't changed a bit," Karen said, "Don't let him push you around."

"Believe me," said Harry, "I don't intend to."

(*)

Harry eating dinner in the Great Hall when Malfoy approached, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter?"

"You're a lot braver now that you are back on the ground with Tweedledee and Tweedledum," Harry said.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact." Harry's eyes narrowed at Malfoy, trying to decide how best to reply. Malfoy, however, took Harry's silence for confusion and continued: "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," Ron blurted out. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

"Excuse me?" said Elizabeth. Ron and Malfoy both ignored her. Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"Ron," Elizabeth said after Malfoy had left. "you are an _idiot_."

Ron's face turned red and he angrily replied, "What do you say that for?"

"First of all," Harry said. "I only met you last week, so what makes you think that you can speak for me like that—or that I would choose you as my second?"

Ron just gaped at him. "Well who _else_ would you choose mate?"

Elizabeth reached over and smacked Ron. " _Me_ , of course, you prick!"

"Secondly," Harry continued, "in any true Wizard Duel it's the _challenged_ party that always sets the terms, and yet you just let _him_ —the _challenger_ —dictate all the terms. Someone like Malfoy should already know that he's not allowed to do that, so the fact that he even tried means that he's up to something."

"Most likely," Hermione chimed in, startling them as she'd silently walked up behind them, "it means that he's planning to set you up."

"My thoughts as well," Harry agreed.

"So...you're just not going to show up?" Ron asked incredulously. "You can't just _not_ show, not after you agreed to it—,"

"He _didn't_ agree to it, you dolt," Elizabeth snarled. " _You did!"_

"Stop insulting me," Ron demanded.

"Oh bite me," Elizabeth retorted.

Ron let a growl, then got up so fast that he bumped the table, spilling several of his neighbors drinks, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room he found Ron sitting on a chair with a Wizard's Chess set on a table in front him; his pet rat, Scabbers, was on his shoulder.

"Harry," Ron called. "Fancy a game of Wizard's Chess?

Harry was surprised that Ron of all people was challenging him, especially after their recent argument. Ron did not at all seem like the kind of person who played chess but Harry soon got his answer when they actually played. Ron played what Harry called 'Rambo Chess', that is he attacked aggressively and frequently to clear the board as fast as possible. Both Harry and Elizabeth, on the other hand, preferred a more subtle and indirect approach, what they called 'Finesse Chess'. But as AI chess programs—both computer programs and the Wizard's Chess pieces during solo mode—also played Rambo Chess, they had learned long ago how to adjust against a Rambo player.

Ron opened their first game by attempting to set up a Scholars Mate; Harry allowed Ron to think that he'd had him fooled and then, right after Ron brought out his queen, Harry brought out his Kings Knight, blocking Ron's queen from finishing the gambit; the look on Ron's face was priceless. Ron switched to a more typical Rambo approach, bringing out his other pieces to attack aggressively. Harry responded accordingly, countering many threats by forcing Ron to move his queen out of danger—thus buying him an extra turn to respond to the threat—and also developed a pawn structure through quiet moves that frequently put Ron into zugzwang—forcing him to move when he didn't want to. At first Ron didn't seem to know what to make of Harry's strategy, at least until Harry had backed Ron's queen into a corner such that Harry was able to take it without losing a piece. From there things rapidly went downhill for Ron.

"You play like Loony Lovegood," Ron complained after finally being checkmated.

"Like _who_?"

Fred and George had chanced to walk up just at that moment; George reached over and smacked Ron's head.

"What our brother means to say," Fred said, "is that he thinks you play like _Luna Lovegood_ , our neighbor; she's a girl about the same age as our sister Ginny; they'll start Hogwarts next year."

"Does this Luna often beat Ron?" Harry asked and George smiled.

"Only _every_ time, which is why Ron doesn't play her anymore."

"Well then," Harry grinned. "I'll take being compared to her as a compliment."

Ron crossed his arms and sulked.

"So, you're really just not going to show up? Ron asked after his brothers had left. "What if Malfoy does show?"

"He won't."

"But what if he does?"

" _He won't!_ "

"You can't know that for sure," said Ron.

Harry buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes as he let out a groan; although he'd never say it aloud, he was starting to wish that he and Lizzie had met Hermione first on the train not Ron; for all of her own flaws, Harry could at least carry on an intelligent conversation with Hermione. Not so with Ron and it was starting to irritate him. Ron clearly was quite prepared to go out after curfew even knowing that it might be a set up, just because it would be an adventure. Truth be told, Harry wouldn't have minded a bit of excitement—but this didn't sound like it would be exciting, it sounded like it would be pointless and end with them getting in detention.

"You want to get detention, Ron," Harry finally said, looking up at him. "You go ahead. I'm going to go upstairs and get some sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Rambo' and 'Finesse are terms that my parents use to describe their different playing styles. I figure Ron for the more direct and aggressive approach, which can be intimidating for newbies, as I don't see him as having the patience or subtlety for the more indirect approach favored by chessmasters.  
> Also, I am going to be posting the next few chapters fairly quickly in order to catch up to where this story is on FF.net, then resume my normal approach of updating on Sunday.


	5. The Cerberus Named Fluffy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Did Albus Dumbledore really send the entire student body out of the Great Hall when a troll was sighted? If so, then I do not own the dystopic world of Harry Potter.

"Harry," Hermione asked him, intercepting him on his way to the stairs. "I am curious, how do you know so much about dueling?"

 

Harry grinned. "Because I am a fan of the Professional Dueling Circuit."

Hermione blinked. "That's actually a sport? How you can anyone earn money by fighting duels?"

"The same way some muggles earn money boxing or wrestling," Harry replied. "Only dueling is _way_ more refined than those sports, at least in my opinion anyway. My favorite duelist in the circuit currently is Erik Lee; he's a bit young, but he's quite good. Rumor has it that he'd originally wanted to be an Auror but wasn't able to get into Snape's N.E.W.T level Potions course, so he became a Duelist instead." Harry started to launch into an explanation of the sport but Hermione quickly held up her hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," she said. "Though I would have thought you'd be eager to go fight Malfoy even knowing it might be a set up."

"I do want to fight him," Harry said. "But I don't want to take the risk of losing Gryffindor points if I am caught sneaking around after curfew."

(*)

That evening Harry hung up his wand holster on one of his bedposts but slid his wand into his bathrobe's pocket as he headed to the showers. When he returned after showering, Harry paused and did a double take. His wand holster was now missing. Doing a quick count of his dormmates, Harry noticed that both Ron and Neville were missing.

Harry tightened up his bathrobe, drew his wand and darted down the stairs where he was met by Hermione, who was wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"Harry," she said, "Ron just left, I tried to stop him—,"

"Did he have my wand holster?"

"Yes," said Hermione. Harry headed towards the portrait door. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm getting my holster back."

Hermione went after Harry through the door. "Then I'm coming with you!"

Outside they found Neville, curled up on the ground at first but he jerked awake as they approached and explained that he'd forgotten the new password. Harry turned back towards the portrait door—only to pause when he saw that the Fat Lady's portrait was empty. She must have left on a nighttime visit but it meant that they were all locked out of Gryffindor tower for the time being.

"Where would Ron go?"

"The trophy room," Harry growled.

They were lucky and did not run into Filch or Mrs. Norris on their way to the trophy room on the third floor. The trophy room was filled with cups, shields, plates and statues that winked silver and gold in the darkness. Ron, who was already there and had Harry's wand holster slung over a shoulder, turned towards them with a grin.

"Harry, he whispered, "You made it—!,"

Harry's fist came up and socked Ron in the face, knocking him to the floor. Harry snatched up his wand holster from Ron and put it on.

"Okay," Ron groaned as he got back to his feet. "I suppose I deserved that."

"That's the smartest thing you've _ever_ said," Harry hissed. He didn't often lose his temper, but when he did Harry was _considerably_ more venomous than Elizabeth; Lily had been much the same way, according to Karen. "What were you—," Hermione abruptly slammed one of her hands over his mouth while placing the index finger of her other hand over her mouth. Her hand had a faint flowery smell. Then Harry heard a familiar and unwelcome voice:

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris, Harry realized with horror. He waved madly at the other three to follow him; they silently scurried toward the door, away from Filch's voice. They'd barely managed to turn a corner when Filch entered the trophy room, muttering:

"They're in here somewhere, probably hiding."

They crept down a long corridor full of suits of armor; they could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly squeaked, broke into a run—and tripped, grabbing Ron as he fell causing the two of them to topple right into a suit of armor, which fell to the floor with a crash loud enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled. They sprinted down the corridor, not looking back; rounding a corner and galloping down another corridor, then another, they finally ripped through a tapestry, through a secret passageway, and came out near their Charms classroom.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted; he leaned against a cold wall and wiped his forehead. Neville was bent double wheezing and sputtering while Hermione clutched at the stich in her chest and gasped out "I told you so's" to Ron, who ignored her and said:

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower, quickly."

But they hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when Peeves shot out of a classroom in front of them and gave a squeal of delight. "What is this?" he cackled, "Ickle Firsties wandering around at midnight? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caught."

"Not if you don't give us away, please," Harry asked.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves, managing to sound quite saintly even with wickedly glittering eyes. "For your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," Ron snapped as he took a swipe at Peeves. That proved to be a huge mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They took off running again, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a locked door.

"This is it!" Ron moaned helplessly. "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps as Filch ran fast towards Peeves shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered. " _Alohomora!"_

The lock clicked and the door swung open; they piled through, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening intently. Neville started tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe but Harry ignored him.

"Peeves, where did they go?" Filch asked.

"Say 'please'," Peeves taunted him.

"Don't mess with me, where did they go?"

"I shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves said in an annoying singsong.

"All right, please."

"NOTHING!" Peeves broke into laughter. "Ha, I only said I wouldn't say nothing." He wooshed away, continuing to cackle as Filch angrily cursed him. As the sound of Filch's voice faded, Harry finally turned around to ask Neville why he was still tugging on Harry's bathrobe sleeve—and suddenly froze for now he knew the real reason why this corridor was off-limits.

A monstrous three-headed dog, one that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor, was staring at them and starting to growl. It hadn't attacked them yet as it had been asleep and surprised by their arrival but now it was starting to growl.

Harry groped for the doorknob and the four Gryffindors fell backwards through it. Harry slammed the door shut, then looked at Hermione who was still holding his wand.

"Know the locking spell? Harry asked her. They did NOT want anyone else opening this door. Hermione nodded and raised his wand, tapping the lock again.

"Colloportus," she said, then handed Harry back his wand. Then they practically flew back down the corridor, wanting to put as much space between them and the monstrous dog as possible. They only stopped running when the reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, noticing their bathrobes and their flushed and sweaty faces.

"Never mind, that," Harry panted. "Pig snout, pig snout." The portrait swung forward and they scrambled into the common room, finally collapsing into several armchairs. A long time passed before any of them said anything; Neville looked like he'd never speak again.

"Why is a thing like that doing locked up in a school?" Ron finally asked.

Hermione got back both her breath and her bad temper. "Did you use your eyes, Weasley? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"I was too busy watching its _three heads_ ," Ron fired back.

"It was standing on a trapdoor," Hermione snapped, glaring at Ron. "It's obviously guarding something; which makes sense, being a Cerberus and all." She stood up. "Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself, Weasley. We could all have been killed—or worse, _expelled!_ Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron just stared at her, mouth open, as she stalked up the stairs to her dormitory.

"I think she needs to adjust her priorities," Ron muttered once she was out of earshot.

"I think _you're_ the one who needs an adjustment," Harry snapped at him. "This only happened because of _you_ and don't think I'll ever forget what you did…. _Weasley!_ "

Ron stared at him, mouth open and eyes widening.

"But—but—,"

"You stole my wand holster," Harry said, "That crossed a line I cannot forget. Consider our friendship over." With that Harry turned away from Ron and headed up to his dormitory. As he climbed into bed Harry pondered what Hermione had said; it seemed too much to be a coincidence that someone would try to rob Gringotts, that Hagrid would somehow be involved…and that a _Cerberus_ would be at this school guarding something.

(*)

Elizabeth was upset the next morning at breakfast that they'd had an adventure without her and demanded that they tell her everything. Harry paused halfway through the tale when McGonagall came over to the Gryffindor table and said:

"Mr. Longbottom, I must talk with you in private; please follow me."

Neville, looking both confused and a bit scared, stood and followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall, up several flights of staircases and to McGonagall's office. To Neville's surprise Professor Flitwick was also there.

"Now, Mister Longbottom, Professor Flitwick and I are concerned about your lack of practical aspects of our classes." Neville was suddenly overcome with nervousness.

Flitwick reassured him: "You have the wand movements and incantations down properly, Mister Longbottom, but you are not actually casting the spells. Is your wand properly matched to you?"

Neville shook his head. "No, it was my dad's."

McGonagall's lips firmed. "That would explain it. Although legacy wands usually work for other family members, they will never give as good results. I will write to your grandmother and urge her to come by and pick you up for a quick trip to Ollivanders. I am sure she will understand once I explain the circumstances."

Neville, however, wasn't so sure his Gran would listen. He was therefore quite surprised when she did show up to take him to Diagon Alley; half an hour later Neville was the proud owner of a Cherry and Unicorn hair wand.

Several days later a package containing a brand-new Nimbus 2000 arrived for Harry, though he knew better than to open it at the table. Harry began training with the Gryffindor team and struggling with an ever increasing load of homework. Oliver Wood, who rumor had it he was already being scouted by professional Quidditch teams, was just as obsessed with the sport as Harry was with dueling, though he nonetheless took it on himself to become a kind of mentor for Harry, helping him to organize his schedule and prioritize so that Harry no longer felt like he was juggling so many competing demands on time.

As the rest of September flew by and then October the rivalry between Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett picked up speed with each continually seeking to outdo the other. Despite Harry's work in potions being nearly as good as those two girls, Snape continued to find any excuse and even—Harry was convinced—invented a few just to mark him down. Neville's performance in Charms and Transfiguration improved dramatically, and with it his self-confidence—at least when Snape wasn't around. Inspired by the way Oliver Wood was mentoring him, Harry made a point of taking the time to study and partner with Neville, especially during Potions, and there too he started to show an improvement. With Harry now ignoring him, Ron's grades took a nosedive as did his social standing and his already fragile self-esteem.

(*)

Harry had never liked Halloween; it always reminded him of his parents deaths and neither the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors, nor the news in Charms that they were ready to start practicing the Hover Charm, could lighten his mood. Flitwick put them into pairs to practice. Harry partnered with Neville and Elizabeth with Seamus. Hermione had the bad luck to be partnered with Ron and it was hard to tell which of them was angrier about this.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing," Professor Flitwick squeaked from his perch on top of a pile of books, "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And the incantation is important too, never forget the wizard Baruffio who said "s" instead of "f" and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Ron was not having much luck. "Wingardium Leviosa," he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped, "It's Wing-gar-dium—make the 'gar' nice and long—and it's Levi-o-sa, not Levio- _sa_."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione flicked her wand and said, " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done Miss Granger!" Flitwick cried.

Ron just sulked and was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron said loudly as they pushed their way into the crowed corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione.

Harry caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you." Harry stared after her.

"So?" Ron sneered. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, started to his clench his fists—POW! Harry blinked and saw Ron fall backwards to the ground, with Elizabeth standing over him with a furious expression on her face.

"You are a jerk and an idiot," Elizabeth announced. Then she turned and stalked off after Hermione.

Hermione and Elizabeth were not seen in Transfiguration, nor at lunch, nor at Herbology, nor for the rest of the afternoon. Finally, on the way to the Halloween Feast, Harry heard Parvati Patil telling Lavender that they were in the first floor girls bathroom. Harry stepped inside just long enough to make three plates of food and three sets of utensils.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Neville asked.

"I'm getting food for Lizzie and Hermione," Harry replied. "No doubt they'll be starving by now." Neville nodded.

Harry carried them out of the Great Hall, up a flight of stairs, down a deserted side corridor towards the girls toilets.

"Oh, bless you, Harry," Elizabeth said when Harry elbowed his way into the bathroom with the food; she took one of the plates and Harry walked over to Hermione.

Hermione's face was wet from tears but she was no longer actively crying. She took a plate hesitantly and they sat down on the floor and began to eat.

"Why?" her voice croaked.

"You skipped lunch, so you must be hungry," Harry said, "Oh, and I'll let you copy my notes for Transfiguration and Herbology.

"But—why?" Hermione repeated. "Why do you even care about me? I know that you think I'm a bossy know-it-all too."

"I don't see you as a bossy know-it-all," Harry said. "I see you as an incredibly smart and passionate girl, one who I want to know better and who I wish I had met under better circumstances."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You—you really mean that?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Ron was _way_ out of line and if Lizzie hadn't decked him first, _I_ would have. I would like very much to have you as a friend, Hermione."

"So would I," Elizabeth agreed.

"Friends?" Hermione said quietly, "Really?"

Harry and Elizabeth both smiled. "Really."

Hermione started to return their smile as the door opened again behind them.

Neville burst in out of breath and said, "Harry, there's a troll in the castle; we need to—"

A massive troll lumbered into the bathroom behind Neville and raised its club; the kids scattered in different directions to avoid it and the club smashed into the sinks, causing them to start leaking water. The next swing of the club narrowly missed Elizabeth and instead smash up several stalls. The troll turned its attention to Hermione, who was backed into a corner and paralyzed with fear; the troll raised its club again.

Harry drew his wand and cast the first spell that came to mind: " _Wingardium Levioso!_ " The troll's club floated out of its hands and briefly hovered above its head. The troll stupidly looked up at it and Harry let it fall on him, which caused the troll to fall to the ground with a massive 'thump'. Only unconscious but no longer a threat.

Harry went over to Hermione and grabbed her arm, helping up out of the wreckage.

"Let's get out of here," Elizabeth said, "before—too late…."

Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall step into the ruined bathroom.

"My goodness," McGonagall exclaimed "What happened in here?

"I was about to ask the same question," Elizabeth retorted, "how the bloody hell did a _troll_ get into the castle?"

"I assure you, Miss Black," McGonagall said, "that will be investigated. Now, why are none of you in the Great Hall?"

"Hermione was upset," Elizabeth began, "Ron had made fun of her; I was trying to calm her down, then Harry came in with dinner and we were just about to leave when Neville arrived, followed by the troll."

"The troll was about to hurt Hermione," Harry finished, "when I used a hover charm on its club and knocked it out."

McGonagall was momentarily speechless, finally she said, "that was very noble and courageous of you, Mister Potter. Very few first years could defeat a fully-grown mountain troll. Fifty points to Gryffindor."

McGonagall escorted them back to the Great Hall where they took seats at the Gryffindor table and finished eating dinner. From that day forward the four of them were best friends.

(*)

November saw the weather turn chilly; the mountains around the school became icy gray, the lake almost freezing cold, and the ground became covered in frost every morning. It also marked the start of Quidditch season. The first match was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin and as the day of the match drew nearer, tension mounted between the two houses. Harry's dormmates even made a banner for him that Hermione then charmed to flash the Gryffindor colors.

Finally, at 11 o'clock on a Saturday, the match began. The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, did the commentary; aside from a few early complements toward Angelina Johnson, Jordan kept his commentary neutral—at least until Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, deliberately collided with Harry during his initial pursuit of the Snitch, nearly causing him to fall off of his broom and also resulting in him losing sight of it.

Harry managed to get back on his broom; after a few minutes he caught sight of the Snitch again and sped towards the ground, racing Terence Higgs the Slytherin Seeker. With the Snitch out of reach, Harry tried to lean forward but this caused the broom to tip. Harry went flying and landed on the ground, clutching his mouth as though he was going to be sick; he coughed and the Snitch fell into his hand. Harry held it up, waving it around his head, and the game ended in confusion. Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

After the match Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville visited Hagrid for tea. Harry asked him: "Why is there a Cerberus in the castle?"

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

"The Cerberus is named _Fluffy_?" Elizabeth said.

"Yeah—he's mine," said Hagrid, "bought him off a Greek chappie I met in a pub las' year; lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—,"

"Yes?" Harry said eagerly

"No, that's top secret, that is." Hagrid said.

"But Snape's trying to steal it," said Harry.

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again, "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort. Now listen to me, all of yeh. You forget that dog; what it's guardin' is no concern for yeh, that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel—,"

"Nicholas Flamel?" Elizabeth said "Thank you so much."

"Shouldn'ta said that," Hagrid furiously said. "Shouldn'ta said that, you forget it now, yeh hear?"

"Nicholas Flamel," Harry muttered as they walked back to the castle, "that sounds very familiar but I can't quite place it."

They started searching the library intermittently for that name during their breaks, though Harry had even less time than them because Wood was working the team harder than ever.


	6. The Cloak, the Dragon, and the Unicorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where searching for unicorn poachers in the middle of the night is considered an appropriate punishment for breaking curfew.

The rest of November saw Elizabeth and Harry fighting losing battles with their tempers in Potions Class; Snape was just so horrible and actually seemed to go out of his way to provoke them just so that he could give them detention. Elizabeth, who had a much shorter temper than Harry, ended up going for it far more than Harry did but seeing her singled out invariably led to him jumping in and getting punished as well.

 

November gave into December and by mid-month the grounds were covered in snow, the lake was frozen solid, and the castle corridors became drafty and chilly. The Weasley twins were punished for throwing snowballs at Quirrel's turban. As the holiday break neared, decorations began to appear all through the castle. Professor McGonagall came around a week before the break with a signup sheet for those students wishing to stay, though almost no did.

Although Hogwarts had become almost like a second home for Harry and Elizabeth, still they were quite happy to see Karen and the Tonks again. While at home they did some last minute Christmas shopping; Elizabeth sent Hermione some sugar-free sweets (her parents were dentists after all) and Harry got her a wand holster (she had asked about them). For Neville Elizabeth gave him a wand holster while Harry got him some Chocolate Frogs. On Christmas Eve Karen had them open their presents from her early and they soon found out why for she had gotten each of them an owl. Harry's was a snowy-white owl that he named Hedwig. Elizabeth got a dark-feathered owl whom she insisted on dubbing 'Vader'.

On Christmas morning Harry awoke to find a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed. The Tonks sent him a wand cleaning kit. Elizabeth gave him a new pair of long underwear, which he was earnestly grateful for. Hermione and Neville had each sent him a box of candy, mostly Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans with a selection of others. From Hagrid Harry got a roughly-carved wooden flute. The last present Harry opened was a very lightweight parcel with the note, written in a narrow loopy handwriting Harry had never seen before, only saying: _"Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you."_

Harry slipped the note into his pajama pocket, unwrapped the parcel and found inside a slivery gray cloak. It felt very strange to touch, almost like water. Harry tried it on and then realized what it was when most of his reflection from the mirror.

 _'An Invisibility Cloak!'_ He thought _'Oh, I am going to have so much fun with this.'_.

Feeling a sudden surge of mischievousness, Harry pulled the hood over his head, slid open his bedroom door and walked out as quietly as he could. Downstairs Harry saw that Karen was already up and making hot chocolate. Harry stepped aside to let Elizabeth walk past.

"Where's Harry?" Karen asked

"I haven't seen him," Elizabeth replied, "I'll go see if he's up yet." She walked back upstairs, but then a minute later came running back down. "Mom! Harry's not in his bed or the bathroom."

"What?" Karen said, "What do you mean he's not there? Where could he possibly be?" Harry lowered his hood and laughed when Karen and Elizabeth both almost jumped out of their skins.

Elizabeth sputtered incoherently, "What are you—how did you—is that an _Invisibility Cloak_?"

Karen stalked over and snatched it off of Harry. "This is James' cloak, how did you get this?" Harry simply grinned and handed over the note. Karen scrutinized it carefully. "This is Dumbledore's handwriting, and it figures he'd tell you a half-truth."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked

"I mean that James _lent_ Dumbledore this cloak after joining the Order and then _Dumbledore_ refused to return it when Lily and James decided to go into hiding a few years later." Karen's eyes narrowed ferociously. "If they'd had this cloak, Harry, Lily at least might have survived and you probably wouldn't have that scar."

Harry's eyes watered, his previous sense of mischief now all but a memory.

"Why didn't Dumbledore return it?" Elizabeth asked, having finally recovered from her shock.

"You'd have to ask _him_ that," Karen said and then gave the cloak back to Harry. "This _is_ rightfully yours, Harry, but _please_ don't you _ever_ scare me like that _again_!"

Harry nodded and carefully folded the cloak back up; he took it up to his room and put it inside his mokeskin pouch, then returned to the kitchen for some hot chocolate.

Christmas Dinner was, as always, bittersweet; the food was excellent: a fat roasted turkey with roasted potatoes, buttered peas, and gravy. Yet, as was their tradition for ten years now, an extra place setting was set aside for Sirius who still languished unjustly in Azkaban despite all of Karen's appeals and challenges. Karen lightened the mood a bit by telling some stories about pranks James and Sirius had pulled while students.

"I remember one year," Karen was saying, "they charmed all the suits of armor in the castle to start singing the school song when someone walked by—in the most annoying tune naturally." Harry clutched his stomach as he laughed; Elizabeth actually fell of her chair, she was laughing so hard.

(*)

Neville was grinning when Harry, Hermione, and Elizabeth met him on the train back to Hogwarts and he explained excitedly: "I found Flamel."

"What?" Hermione said, "Where?"

"It was last night. I opened one of the Chocolate Frogs that Harry sent me; look here." Neville held up a Chocolate Frog card:

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Hermione let out a squeal of excitement, startling her friends as she jumped up and started rummaging through her trunk, finally pulling out an enormous old book.

"I got this out of the library for some light reading over the holidays," she said. "I never thought to look in here." She started to flicking through the book with frantic speed, muttering to herself, and at least found what she was looking for: _I knew it! I knew it!"_

"Knew what?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nicholas Flamel," Hermione announced dramatically, "is the only known maker of the _Sorcerer's Stone!_ " She showed them the page.

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making_ _the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing_ _powers. The Stone will transform any metal_ _into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life,_ _which will make the drinker immortal._ _There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's_ _Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone known to exist_ _belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted_ _alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated_ _his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last_ _year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife,_ _Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

"Wow," said Harry. "So _that_ must be what Fluffy what is guarding."

Elizabeth frowned. "Wait a minute," she said. "If Flamel is that old, then he would have made the Stone long before Dumbledore was born."

"And?" Neville asked

"If that is the case," Elizabeth said. "Just what did _Dumbledore_ work on in alchemy with Flamel that was so notable it's mentioned in his Chocolate Frog card?"

None of them, not even Hermione, had an answer for that.

"Well," Hermione finally said. "I think we have a new mystery to research in the library. Knowing that it's related to alchemy narrows our search _considerably_."

With the term started up again Wood began working the team harder than ever, even though endless rain had replaced the snow. Harry had always intended to use his Invisibility Cloak to explore the castle unhindered and perhaps even check out the Restricted Section but Quidditch practice always tired him out so much that he went right to sleep. Although they did catch a few minutes here and there in the library in the Alchemy section, there seemed to be nothing there about Dumbledore. Yet for all the preparation that Wood put into preparing the team for the game with Hufflepuff, the actual match was an anticlimax, with Harry spotting and catching the Snitch mere minutes into the game.

Hermione got them to start reviewing for exams a full fourteen weeks early and, unfortunately, it seemed that the teachers were thinking along the same lines for they piled on an every increasing amount of homework, such that they had to spend the entire Easter break in the library getting caught up. While taking a stretch break Harry noticed Hagrid leaving the library looking like he was hiding something. Too far away to call out to him without disrupting the library, Harry shrugged it off and went back to studying. Harry didn't think much of it until the following month, on the day before the Slytherin-Hufflepuff Quidditch game, when Hedwig delivered a letter from Hagrid asking to see him.

The inside of Hagrid's hut was stiflingly hot, with a fire burning away in the grill in spite of the warming temperatures outside, and a cauldron sitting on the fire.

"Open a window, already," Elizabeth said.

"I can't," said Hagrid. And then they saw why when Hagrid removed from the cauldron a large black egg and set it on the table in front of them.

"Is that..." Neville began

"...a dragon egg?" Harry finished.

"Where did you get it?" Hermione asked

" _How_ did you get it?" Neville asked. "These things are illegal."

"Oh look," said Hagrid, "it's starting." Cracks were starting to appear in the shell and as they watched the shell finally split in half and the dragon emerged.

"It's a Norwegian Ridgeback," Neville gasped.

To Harry it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella; it had spiny wings that looked huge compared to its skinny jet body, a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns, and bulging orange eyes; from its neck all the way to its tail was the line of spikes that had given this species of dragon its name. It sneezed and a couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid murmured and he reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head; it snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?" But Hagrid was too absorbed in the baby dragon to answer.

"I'm going to call him Norbert," Hagrid said.

Elizabeth said, "Hagrid, you can't keep Norbert; not only is it illegal, but you live in a wooden house."

It took a week to make Hagrid see reason, during which time the dragon grew three times its original length and Hagrid's duties were neglected as the dragon kept him so busy.

"Give it another two weeks," Harry said. "And he'll be as long as your house."

Hagrid bit his lip. "I — I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

"And what do you think the Ministry is going to do when they find out you have an illegal dragon?" Neville asked him

"They're willing to put my dad away indefinitely for crimes he _didn't_ commit," Elizabeth said. "What do you think they'll do to _you?"_

In the end, however, it was when Harry remembered that Charlie Weasley was a dragon keeper in Romania and offered to send Norbert there that Hagrid finally relented. Harry sent Hedwig off with a letter to Charlie Weasley that night and the following week seemed to drag on forever. In that time Norbert grew even larger and switched from eating chicken's blood and brandy to dead rats by the crate. Neville got bitten by Norbert, whose fangs proved to be venomous, and so was forced to spend several days in the hospital wing. The letter finally came from Charlie Weasley asking to meet at the top of the Astronomy Tower on Saturday night with the dragon. Elizabeth originally planned to help them but found herself in detention (again) that night for having talked back to Snape (again), leaving it to just Harry and Hermione to sneak out under Harry's cloak after curfew.

"I packed him extra food and brandy," said Hagrid, "And his teddy bear." Hermione winced at the sounds coming from within the crate; no doubt the poor teddy had just been ripped to shreds. Those sounds made her realize something they'd overlooked until now:

"Even if we can fit this under the Cloak, Norbert's making enough of a racket to wake up half the castle."

"Can't you do something about that?"

"Harry," Hermione said very patiently. "The Silencing Charm is a fifth year spell, even _I_ don't study that far ahead." But then she muttered, "Though if we get out of this, I am _so_ going to learn it."

"Okay," said Harry. "I guess I'll have to try the next best thing." Harry pointed his wand at the cage and said " _Muffliato_." It was one of the spells from his mother's notes.

"What was that supposed to do?" Hermione asked when the racket didn't fade.

"If I'm remembering correctly, it should prevent anyone else from hearing it or us."

"Where did you even find a spell like that?"

"Long story, I'll tell you later," Harry said. "Let's just get this over with."

"Right," said Hermione with a nod.

It was a very tight fit under the Invisibility Cloak, but they managed to cart the crate with Norbert into the castle and up several flights of stairs. They were nearly to the door to the Astronomy Tower when they encountered Filch. They tried to sneak past him but for some reason Filch kept looking in their direction, almost as if he was hearing something, even though Harry knew that shouldn't be possible. They slipped inside the Astronomy Tower and hurried up to the top where Harry finally took off the Cloak and put it in his mokeskin pouch.

For ten minutes they waited and when they finally spotted four broomsticks descending out of the darkness, Harry cancelled the Muffliato spell. Charlie and his friends were a cheerful lot; they showed Harry and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Hermione shook hands with the others and gave them profuse thanks. Then at last Norbert was gone.

But their profound sense of relief and lightened hearts suddenly died when they turned towards the door just in time to see it open. Filch stood on the other side.

"Well, well," he said with a cackle. "A pair of first years out of bed after curfew, and in the Astronomy Tower no less."

(*)

Filch took them to McGonagall's office; all the way there a wide variety of excuses, alibies and wild stories rushed through Harry's head, each less believable than the last. Hermione was trembling and biting her lip as they waited. McGonagall finally arrived wearing a pink bathrobe and a hairnet.

"Never have I been so disappointed in a pair of my students," McGonagall exclaimed. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?" Hermione, for the first time, refused to answer a professor; she just stared at her shoes. Harry placed his arms behind his back and bit his tongue. There was nothing to say, nothing they _could_ say. "Never in all my years have a pair of _first-years_ been discovered after curfew in the _Astronomy Tower_ and I never would have expected it one of the students to be _you,_ Miss Granger. You are normally so very sensible." Hermione's cheeks flushed. "I have no choice but to take fifty points from Gryffindor. _Each_." Harry's face fell; a hundred points would drop them from first to last in the House Cup. "You will also each serve a detention. Now, get back to your dormitories."

"Yes, Professor," Harry and Hermione mumbled together.

They next morning the Gryffindor's were quite confused at the point glasses in the Entrance Hall and initially thought that there must be some mistake for how could they have lost a hundred points overnight? Harry and Hermione kept their heads down and focused on their breakfast as rumors and accusations began to fly at the Gryffindor table. Finally someone noticed that they were being unusually quiet and although they didn't say anything, it was soon quickly deduced by the rest of Gryffindor that the two of them were somehow responsible. In almost the blink of an eye Harry saw his popularity evaporate; even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him as they had been looking forward to Slytherin losing for once. The Slytherins, instead, took to congratulating them in the halls. Wood, meanwhile started drilling the Gryffindor Quidditch team ever harder, especially when Slytherin increased their lead even further when their team flattened Ravenclaw that Saturday.

"I found out what went wrong," Harry said quietly to Hermione in the common room that night, showing her a page from his mother's notes.

"It creates a buzzing sound in the ears of nearby people," Hermione said with a sigh. "Useful if you don't want someone overhearing a private conversation, but not so much if you are under an Invisibility Cloak." She paused for a moment. "So where did you get this spell anyway?"

"My mum invented it, I think," he replied "It was handwritten into one of her textbooks."

Hermione made a face at the notion of defacing a book like that, then slid over a parchment on which she'd copied the Silencing Charm from the library copy of 'Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5: "Next time we're under the Cloak, for any reason, we use this instead." They spent the entire next week practicing that spell whenever they had a free moment, Elizabeth and Neville joined them as they often used Trevor as a target. As the spell was meant for fifth years, it was not easy to learn as a first year even for Hermione, but by the time of Harry, Hermione and Elizabeth's detention on Saturday the four of them had finally gotten it down.

But whereas McGonagall took Harry and Hermione to an empty classroom where they would spend the entire afternoon writing endless lines, "I will not sneak out after curfew", Elizabeth was led out of the castle by Filch.

"Wait a minute," she said. "Where are we going?"

Filch sneered at her. "Professor Snape has requested something special for you, Miss Black, in light of your repeated defiance and disrespect towards him."

Elizabeth's heart rose when she saw Hagrid. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. Her relief must have shown on her face as Filch said:

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, girl — it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll come out in one piece."

"The forest?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Isn't that, like, forbidden and full of dangerous creatures?"

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of that before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid strode towards them, with Fang at his heel; he carried a large crossbow and quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Elizabeth?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to her, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "she's here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' her, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dark," said Filch, "for what's left of her," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle.

"I'm not going in that forest," Elizabeth said, starting to sound a bit panicky.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"Can't I just copy lines or something, if my mum knew about this, she'd—"

"— tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! That's obviously not done yeh any good, has it? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer mum'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Elizabeth didn't move, just glared at Hagrid; she couldn't be certain, but she was pretty sure that Hagrid was wrong about how her mother would react to hearing about this.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do, an' I don' want yeh takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

He led her to the very edge of the forest and pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted her hair as  
they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time this week. I found one dead on Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Elizabeth unable to keep the fear out her voice. Bravery was one thing, but she was only a first year. There wasn't much she could do against something capable of hurting unicorns.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid.

"Except for whatever's hunting unicorns," Elizabeth retorted.

"Yeh'll be fine as long as yer with Fang," Hagrid replied. "We're gonna split up an' follow the trail in diff 'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least. Yeh'll take Fang and go one way, I'll go another. If yeh find the unicorn, send up green sparks; if yeh find trouble, send up red sparks an' I'll come an' find yeh— so, be careful — let's go."

The forest was so thick and blocked out so much light that Elizabeth soon got out her and said. " _Lumos_." The tip lit up with a wan light, allowing her to see the trail better as well as the spots of blood. The trail finally split off; Hagrid took the left path while Elizabeth and Fang took the right path. Every now and then she would see a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves. For nearly an hour she walked with the dog until the trail became almost impossible to follow as the trees were so thick. Finally she spotted a clearing through the tangled branches of an ancient oak. Inside the clearing lay a dead unicorn; Elizabeth had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Elizabeth started forward again only to freeze at a slithering sound. Out of the shadows came a cloaked figure that lowered its head over the wound in the animals side and began to drink its blood. Fang started barking but then bolted when the cloaked figure raised his head and looked straight at them. As it came forward, Elizabeth took a step back and tripped over a root. She fell backwards onto her back and raised her wand as the figure drew near and said the first spell that came to her. " _Locomotor Mortis!_ " The figure's legs locked together and he fell down face first. Elizabeth stood and took off running.

She hadn't gotten far from the clearing when she nearly ran into something that caused her to stop and fall back down; looking up she realized that it was a centaur with white-blond hair, blue eyes like sapphires and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Elizabeth to her feet.

"There's something back there," Elizabeth said gasping for air. "Do you know what it is?"

The centaur hesitated and looked carefully at her. "Who are you?"

"Oh forgive me," said Elizabeth, "My name is Elizabeth Black."

"My name is Firenze," the centaur replied. "And you had best get back to Hagrid, the forest is not safe for one as young as you."

As if that was a cue Hagrid came bursting through the trees with two more centaurs.

"What's happen'd," Hagrid asked.

"The unicorn is dead," Elizabeth said. "It's in the clearing over there." The other two centaurs went galloping towards it. "What is going on here?"

Firenze hesitated for a moment, then said. "Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Ellizabeth, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but you will have a cursed life from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Elizabeth stared at Firenze in shock. "Cursed?"

"Yes," he said, "you live but you are no longer capable of feeling love or compassion, or any of the things that make life worth living; all of that becomes meaningless and you are left with only avarice and greed. The one who slays a unicorn puts themselves beyond any hope of redemption."

"Who would do that to themselves?" Elizabeth asked. "Wouldn't death be better?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else — something that will mean you can never die."

"The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course — the Elixir of Life! But who would—"

"Can you think of nobody who would be this desperate? Someone who does not see such a curse as a drawback because they have already done even worse?"

Elizabeth felt as though an iron fist had suddenly clenched her heart. "Voldemort," she whispered.

"Do not say that name here," Firenze snapped. "Even names have power. Now you must go."


	7. Down the Trap Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where it's even possible to win a dragon egg in a card game.

Elizabeth deliberately looked away from Hagrid as they walked out of the forest. When he tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, she wriggled out of his grasp.

 

"What's gotten into yeh?" Hagrid asked.

"What you mean _aside_ from the fact that _I was almost_ _killed_ _back there!_?"

"Yeh're fine," Hagrid said, trying to sound reassuring.

"No thanks to you or your cowardly dog." Elizabeth snapped. "What would you have told my mother if I'd been killed?" She deepened her voice as much as her feminine vocal chords allowed. "'Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Black but your daughter was murdered by a unicorn poacher, who turned out to be Voldemort himself, because I sent her off into the forbidden forest with just my dog. But don't worry, that's how things are at Hogwarts, you know'." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh yes, that would have gone over _really well_."

"I wasn't expectin' anythin' would actually hurt yeh—,"

"You sent me in search of a _unicorn poacher_ , what _were_ you expecting?"

"I didn' think—,"

"No, you didn't."

"I had ter do somthin' tough fer yeh," Hagrid said. "Professor Snape tells me that yeh been real disrespectful ter him fer months and that regular detentions weren't working fer yeh."

Elizabeth blinked. _'Tough? I almost got killed and that was his idea of_ tough _'?_ "Did Snape also mention that he deliberately provokes me?"

"He's a _professor_ ," said Hagrid, sounding defensive all of a sudden. "Professor Dumbledore trusts him. He wouldn't do anything like that."

"In our very first class Neville made a mistake in his potion; Snape blamed _Harry and I_ for it, even though we had nothing to do with it, and even took away points from us for it." When Hagrid was silent, Elizabeth added. "You can ask Harry and Neville and all the other Gryffindors; they'll back me up."

As they approached the castle she spotted Snape coming their way. Elizabeth noted that although they stopped, Hagrid didn't ask Snape if anything she'd said was true.

"What is the news, Hagrid?" Snape asked.

"There's another dead unicorn," Hagrid said sadly.

"I'll take care of like last time," Snape replied, then turned his beady gaze on Elizabeth. "And you, Black, will learn to respect your teachers." Elizabeth had to bite her tongue to stop the instinctive retort that would only get her another 'special detention' and settled for just crossing her arms and glaring at Snape. Then she hurried inside.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville were waiting for her in the entrance hall.

"What happened," Harry asked. "You look terrible."

Elizabeth raised her wand and cast, " _Muffliato_. I will explain everything soon, but first I need you to do me a favor, Harry."

"What?"

"While Snape is in the forest, I want you to break into his private stores and see if there's anything...suspicious there. Something related to unicorns, perhaps."

"Unicorns?" The other three chorused.

"What—,"

"How—,"

"Why—,"

"Just trust me Harry and do it," said Elizabeth. "I'll explain everything when you get back, and I really only want to tell the story once."

Harry gave Elizabeth a careful look, then nodded. He cast "Silencio" on his feet, jumped up and down a bit to prove that it was working, then donned his Invisibility Cloak. He left radius of the Muffliato spell and headed down to the dungeons. Snape's office was adjacent to his classroom and the door was locked. Harry pointed his wand at it. " _Alohomora!_ " The door opened and Harry went inside and headed straight for the next door, the one that had Snape's private store of ingredients. Another _Alohomora_ opened that door as well and then Harry said, " _Lumos"._ The light of his wand cast shadows all around the room; most of the shelves of ingredients seemed fairly innocuous but one shelf had jars containing silvery organs... _Bingo!_... " _Nox_ ," Harry whispered and hurried out, closing the doors behind him.

Hermione, Neville, and Elizabeth were still standing in the Entrance Hall when Harry returned and took off his Invisibility Cloak.

"What did you find Harry?" Elizabeth asked.

"You were right," Harry said sadly. "Snape has unicorn organs."

Neville and Hermione gasped.

"That's illegal!" Neville exclaimed.

Hermione nodded furiously. "Even possessing unicorn organs is illegal, and any potion that uses them is also illegal." She turned to Elizabeth. "How did you know Snape would have them?"

"Let's start walking," she replied. As they headed up the stairs she began: "Hagrid took me and his dog into the Forbidden Forrest because someone has been killing unicorns."

"Snape?"

"You'd think so, but no," said Elizabeth, "Voldemort."

"Voldemort's dead." Harry replied.

"Apparently not," Elizabeth replied. "He's been strengthening himself drinking unicorn blood and intends to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."

"So Snape's not killing the unicorns," said Hermione. "He's just profiting from Voldemort killing the unicorns—and that sounds even worse."

Elizabeth's sea-blue eyes narrowed with dangerous glint to them. "It is! And I say we should bust him!"

The others are all nodded in agreement. They changed directions to go the Owlery where Elizabeth sent her owl 'Vader' off with a letter addressed directly to Amelia Bones, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"When do you think they'll come," Hermione asked the next morning at breakfast.

"It's Sunday," Neville reminded her. "So probably not until tomorrow at the earliest."0

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the post owls. One of them landed in front of Harry, who paid it and took his Sunday Prophet. As was his weekly ritual for almost as long as he could read, Harry went straight to the sporting section then folded it back so that he could read the latest listings in the Professional Dueling Circuit. While he was reading he didn't notice Fred and George taking seats across from him.

"Erik Lee lost to _Thomas O'Neill_?" Harry muttered to himself with a frown. "Totally didn't see that coming. What? The odds-on favorite for Dunstable is Hugo Park? Puh- _leeze_ , how in Merlin's name did _he_ make it that far?" Harry spent a full ten minutes going down the page critiquing every single listing and then some. "The 'All-Britain' is going to have a lousy lineup this year," Harry finally concluded, folding the paper back to read over the Quidditch section.

"You sound so much like Wood," Fred pointed out.

"It's scary," George added.

"I bet he's already got you picked out as a future Captain."

Harry snorted a bit, though they weren't that far off. Even though Wood would be on the team for two more years, he was already grooming both Angelina and Harry himself to succeed him. Harry was profoundly grateful to Wood for his mentorship over the past year as it was thanks in large part to him that Harry had learned to channel the passion he already felt for dueling into other things. Although Harry didn't follow Quidditch with the same intensity, it had still captured his attention once he'd expanded his horizons. It helped that he not only enjoyed flying, but it felt almost as natural as walking.

(*)

Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville spent the entire week waiting with baited breath, expecting Ministry Hit-Wizards to arrive at any moment, but no one came to arrest Snape. Then exams arrived, accompanied by a sweltering heat, and they were suddenly so busy with studying that he didn't have much time to fret about the Ministry, Snape or Voldemort. All of their classes had written exams and Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions also each had a practical exam; for Flitwick they had to make a pineapple tap dance across a desk, for McGonagall they had to turn a mouse into a snuffbox and were graded based on the completeness of the transformation, for Snape they had to brew a Forgetfulness potion, and for Quirrel they had to demonstrate a variety of defensive spells, including the Leg-Locker Jinx, the Full-Body-Bind, and the Knockback and Knockdown Jinxes. The very last exam was also the most boring, History of Magic: an entire hour of answering questions about goblin rebellions and batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons.

But after the exams were over Harry was left with a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten to do something; Hermione put it down to just stress about the exams. As Harry watched an owl flutter towards the school, he suddenly realized it was and jumped to his feet.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Elizabeth asked

"I've just thought of something," said Harry, turning pale, "We have to go see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" Hermione panted.

"Hagrid never told us how he got the dragon egg," Harry said. "Don't you think it's bit weird how that happened? I mean how many people walk around with dragon eggs? It's against the law, for starters."

"They found Hagrid sitting in an armchair outside of his house, sleeves rolled up as he shelled peas into a large bowl.

"Hey, kids," Hagrid said, smiling, "Got yer exams finished?"

"Yeah, listen," Harry said, "You know that time you won Norbert? What did the stranger look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "He kept his hood up."

They nodded, having expected this. "What did you talk about?"

"He asked a bit about what I did, an' then about the sorta creatures I look after. I said I'd always really wanted a dragon and then…let's see, yes, he asked if I could take care of it. So I told him that after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy."

"Did he seem interested in Fluffy?"

"Well—yeah—, yeh don't see many three-headed dogs around. So I told, Fluffy's real easy, just play a bit o'music and he'll go straight off ter sleep—,"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified as he realized what he'd given away. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey–where're yeh goin'?"

"I am _such_ an idiot," Hermione blurted out as they headed back towards the castle.

"Why do you say that?" Harry wondered. "I think you're quite smart."

"But I should have thought of that on my own," Hermione replied "It's a _Cerberus_ so _of course_ it would fall asleep to music."

"I don't follow," said Neville.

"In Greek mythology the underworld was guarded by a Cerberus, but Orpheus was able to get past it using music."

"Of course," Harry and Elizabeth echoed.

They entered the castle only to abruptly halt as an argument broke out; Hermione and Neville were adamant about telling Professor Dumbledore but they didn't know where his office was even if Harry or Elizabeth had been inclined to trust him.

"What are you four doing inside?" It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione bravely ventured.

"Why do you want to know?" McGonagall frowned.

"It's about the Sorcerer's Stone," Harry finally said

The books McGonagall was carrying tumbled out of arms and splattered all over the floor. "How do you know—,"

"It doesn't matter," said Elizabeth, "We think someone is going to try and steal it."

McGonagall eyed them with a mixture of shock and suspicion. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone but rest assured, it is perfectly safe."

"But Professor—,"

"I do not want to take more points from my own House," McGonagall, "The Stone is safe, so go out and enjoy the sunshine."

They left her but didn't outside.

"It'll be tonight," said Harry, once McGonagall was out of earshot. Hermione and Elizabeth only nodded.

"But can we—,"

"Well, well," Snape's voice said from behind them; they whirled about to face him, "What do we have here? Four Gryffindors inside on a day like this. What are you up to, I wonder?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Elizabeth retorted. "So leave us alone."

"Twenty points for your cheek, Miss Black." Snape sneered before walking away.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked.

"We should keep an eye on the corridor," Harry said. "If someone goes in, we get help."

"But what if we get caught?" Neville worried.

"We'll be using my Cloak," Harry reminded him.

All the rest of the day they took turns standing near the door under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Neville came back to the Common Room looking quite disturbed.

"Someone's gone inside," Neville said.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Couldn't get a good look at him," Neville said. "What are we going to do? If we go to McGonagall, even if she believes us, she'll still punish us for being out after curfew."

"Then we'll have to go after whoever it is," Harry said.

"I almost can't believe that we're actually going to do this," Hermione said quietly.

"Mum's probably going to freak," Elizabeth said with a sigh.

Under the Invisibility Cloak the four them crept through the castle to the third floor corridor. On the way they had a near-encounter with Peeves but thankfully Harry was able to pretend to be an invisible Bloody Baron and Peeves left them.

Hermione raised her wand, tapped the lock and whispered, _'Alohomora'_. The door opened. Fluffy's three heads immediately started growling and sniffing in their direction even though he couldn't see them. At the dog's feet was a conjured harp, though it was no longer playing any music.

"Here goes nothing," Harry whispered. He took out Hagrid's flute, put it to his lips and started to blow. It wasn't much of a tune but Fluffy's growls ceased and he fell fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Elizabeth warned as they slipped out of the cloak. She stuffed it into Harry's mokeskin pouch as they crept toward the trapdoor. She pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open. Down below they could see nothing, not even stairs, just black. Elizabeth jumped down first, then Neville, then Hermione, then finally Harry stopped playing and jumped down.

Harry landed with a funny sort of muffled thump onto something soft; if felt like some sort of plant. He tried to stand up only to realize that the plant's long creepers had somehow bound his legs. The more he struggled, the more tightly it wound him. Elizabeth was bound too.

"Stop struggling," Neville said; he and Hermione had managed to free themselves from the plant. "This is Devil's Snare, the harder you struggle, the faster it kills you." They stopped moving and Neville raised his Cherry wand. " _Incendio!_ " Flames shot out from his wand at the plant. In a matter of seconds it had loosened its grip, allowing Harry and Elizabeth to pull free.

They lit their wands and headed down a dark stone passageway; at the end was a brilliantly lit chamber full of winged keys, with three brooms and a door that would not open even for four simultaneous _Alohomora_ charms. Harry spot a large silver key with a damaged wing, that had to be it. "I'm a Seeker, I got this." Harry mounted a broom and went after it; the moment he did, the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch on. But Harry was the youngest Seeker in a century for a reason. He spotted and snatched the key, then landed quickly, rammed it into the lock, and turned. It worked. The moment the lock clicked open, the key took flight again—now very battered looking.

"Ready?" Harry asked the others and they nodded. He pulled the door open. The next chamber was at first so dark that they couldn't see anything at all. But the moment they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded into the room, revealing a huge chessboard with larger than life chess pieces. They were standing behind the black chessmen.

"What now?" Harry asked

"I think we'll have to play our way across," Elizabeth said.

"But how?"

"We might have to replace four Black pieces, hold on." She walked up to the Black King and tapped the base. It sprang to life and turned to look down at her, "Do we…er…have to join you to get across?" The black king nodded and she turned back towards them. "Harry, do you mind if I take the lead here, I beat you at chess last time we played."

"Yes, go ahead."

"Okay, Harry you replace the King, Hermione, the Queen, Neville and I will be the Rooks." The pieces she had named all stepped off the board and they replaced him.

It was the most sensible arrangement, Harry knew. The whole point of the game was to protect the King while the Queen, being the most powerful piece, was almost never sacrificed and both it and the Rooks tended to be late game pieces, which again reduced the chance of being taken. Pieces like the Knight and the Bishop, on the other hand, were quite prone to being lost and sacrificed. Knowing what Wizard's Chess did to the pieces, they didn't want to think about what might happen if one of them was captured.

The white queen's pawn moved forward two spaces. At Elizabeth's order, the black queen's pawn did likewise. The white queen's bishop pawn moved up two spaces to threaten it and Elizabeth countered by ordering their own pawn to take it. Now the white kings pawn moved forward two spaces. Elizabeth countered with their king's side knight. The white king's bishop swooped down and took their undefended pawn and Elizabeth responded by ordering their knight to capture the similarly undefended white king's pawn.

Now the white queen came out and put Harry into checkmate. Elizabeth blocked it with their queen's bishop. The deployed white bishop swooped down and took a pawn, putting Harry in check and forcing him to take it. The white queen moved back to threaten their knight. Elizabeth moved a bishop out to protect it. The white queen again checked Harry and forced him to move back. Now the white pawn moved forward one step to threaten their bishop and Elizabeth had the threatened bishop take it, leading to it threatening the queen while being protected by Hermione. Again the white queen moved to check Harry and this time Elizabeth blocked it with a pawn. The white queen retreated.

Finally having a moment of breathing room, Elizabeth brought out their other knight. White responded by deploying one of their knights to threaten their first knight. Elizabeth took the trade, then sent their active bishop to take a white pawn, threatening their kings rook. The white queen countered by moving to threaten Hermione, offering Queen's Trade. Elizabeth declined the trade and had Hermione move aside. Again the white queen moved to offer a trade and this time Elizabeth moved a pawn to intercept. The white queen moved back to threaten their bishop, which was finally free to take the white rook.

The other white bishop moved out. Elizabeth pulled their active bishop back next to their pawn. The white knight moved in front of their king. Elizabeth responded by moving their own knight. White moved its remaining rook to threaten their active bishop but, as it was protected by a pawn, Elizabeth ignored the threat and moved their knight to check the white king and also threaten their bishop. The white king moved out of check and Elizabeth traded their knight for the white bishop, then brought out their other bishop. The white queen moved back to its previous position and Elizabeth advanced a pawn so one of their bishops could threaten it. The white queen retreated a square.

Elizabeth walked over next to Harry to threaten the pawn in front of the white king. The white knight moved to threaten a pawn and a bishop. Ignoring the threat for the moment, as that bishop was guarded by a pawn, Elizabeth moved their other bishop to place more pressure on the white pawn in front of their king. The white queen again moved to offer a trade with Hermione. Elizabeth countered by moving their threatened bishop out of danger so that it could check the white king. The white knight blocked it. Elizabeth had Hermione move in front of Harry. The white queen fell back a step. Elizabeth had Hermione move again, this time to threaten the white pawn even more. The white queen took a black pawn and checked Harry and Elizabeth had Hermione take the now unprotected white queen. Now the white rook swooped down to check Harry and was taken by Neville, who looked glad at finally having something to do.

A white pawn moved forward two spaces, a quiet move but all that white could do at this point. At Elizabeth's order Hermione moved forward to take the white knight, placing the white king in check. The white king moved aside. Neville moved down to check the king and he moved up and aside. Hermione took the white pawn next to her, checking the white king again and again it moved aside and up. Neville moved across to check the white king again and again it moved up and aside. Elizabeth moved down next to the white king and it moved in front of the active pawn. Hermione moved to take the pawn and declared: "Checkmate!"

The white king took off his crown and threw it down at her feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. They charged ahead thought he door and up the next passageway. The next room had a dead troll, one even larger than the one Harry had knocked out.

"I'm glad we don't have to fight that one," Harry said.

The next room had a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing in a line. As they stepped over the threshold, a purple fire sprang up behind them while a black fire sprang up ahead of them. They were trapped.

Hermione spotted and picked up a roll of paper lying next to the bottles; she read it through, then let out a sigh and smiled. "This is brilliant," she said, "this isn't magic, this is a puzzle. Most wizards don't have an ounce of logic. Give a few minutes to think." She read the paper several times, pacing back and forth as she muttered to herself pointed at the bottles. At last she said, "Got it, the smallest bottle will get us through the black fire."

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said, "Which one will get us back through the purple flames?" Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the light. "Okay, I'll go ahead, the rest of you go back; get the brooms from the key room and get help."

"But what if Voldemort is there?" Hermione asked, her lip trembling. Harry tapped his scar.

"I've survived him once before," Harry reassured her. "With any luck whatever happened then is still working."

Hermione suddenly dashed at Harry, throwing her arms around him.

"You're a great wizard you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry.

"Me!" said Hermione. "Books and cleverness. There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry, be careful."

She stepped back and now Elizabeth briefly embraced him.

"You take care of yourself, you here? You're not allowed to die!"

Harry grinned and gave her a jaunty salute, then turned to Neville. "Good luck, Harry," he said.

Neville and the girls drank first and went through the purple fire. Harry took a deep breath, picked up the smallest bottle, and drained it one gulp. An icy feeling flooded his body; bracing himself, he walked through the black flame not even feeling the heat. On the other side, in the last chamber, was the very last person Harry had expected to meet.

(*)

 **A/N:** The revelation about Snape and unicorns is borrowed with permission from "Faery Heroes" by SilentlyWatches. If you are wondering about my detailed description of the chess game, it is a match that I played on my IPad while writing this chapter, set on a difficulty way below my skill level but adequate for an eleven-year-old. I also drew out the endgame to reflect that, as checkmate could have been achieved a few moves earlier without Neville or Elizabeth having to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The revelation about Snape and unicorns is borrowed with permission from "Faery Heroes" by SilentlyWatches. If you are wondering about my detailed description of the chess game, it is a match that I played on my IPad while writing this chapter, set on a difficulty way below my skill level but adequate for an eleven-year-old. I also drew out the endgame to reflect that, as checkmate could have been achieved a few moves earlier without Neville or Elizabeth having to move.


	8. The Possessed Professor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where schools are used to bait homicidal psychopaths.

"Professor Quirrel?"

 

"I was wondering whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter," Quirrel replied.

"I never would have expected _you_ ," Harry said.

Quirrel laughed. "Yes, Snape does seem like the type, doesn't he; next to him, who would possibly suspect me?" Quirrel raised his wand and shot ropes at Harry that bound him tightly.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. You and that Black girl, scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly, I have a special gift for tolls—,"

"Let me guess," Harry said, "it's because you're as dumb as them?"

"Quiet," Quirrel snapped and turned back to face the enormous mirror behind him; the inscription over the top was gibberish. "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone, of course Dumbledore would come up with something like this…"

Harry decided to keep Quirrel talking so that he couldn't concentrate on the mirror. "So it was you that attacked Lizzie in the forest? You were the one killing the unicorns? You tried to rob Gringotts?"

"Yes, yes," Quirrel said and stared hungrily into the mirror, "I see the Stone, I am presenting it to my master, but where is it?" Quirrel cursed under his breath, "I don't understand..is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind raced.

_'If Quirrel is looking for the stone, then the very last thing I want to do is find it.'_

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master?"

To Harry's horror, a voice answered—seeming to come from Quirrel himself.

"Use the boy," the voice hissed.

Quirrel rounded on Harry. "Yes—Potter, come here." Quirrel raised his wand and released Harry from the bindings; when Harry refused to do anything more than stand up, Quirrel drew his wand back in a dragging motion and Harry found himself being pulled by an unseen force toward the mirror. Harry closed his eyes, thinking over and over again: _'I don't want to find it, I don't want to find it, I don't want to find it'._

Quirrel's turban smelled of garlic. Harry opened his eyes and then they widened at what he saw. He saw his parents and grandparents, his great-uncle Charlus, great-aunt Dorea and cousin William, he saw Sirius standing with Karen and Elizabeth, several young children—one a girl with Lily's hair, one a boy with Sirius' grey eyes—and the Tonks. Harry's reflection grinned at him, removed a reddish stone from his pocket, and then put it back in. Harry felt a thud in his own pocket; somehow, despite not wanting it, he had somehow retrieved the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Well?" Quirrel "What do you see?"

Harry just grinned and spoke the utter truth: "I see my parents and grandparents, and my great-uncle and great-aunt, alive and well; I see my godfather, free and happy. I see my siblings and cousins—both the ones I have and the ones that I will _never_ have. I see that the family that your master has denied me!"

Quirrel cursed again. "Get out of the way." Harry gladly stepped aside from the mirror.

"Let me speak to him, face to voice," the voice hissed.

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Harry felt petrified as Quirrel reached up and unwrapped the turban. It fell away and Quirrel turned his back towards Harry. Harry gasped; there was a face in the back of Quirrel's head, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen—chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils like a snake.

"Harry Potter," it whispered. "You see what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor, less than even a ghost. I have form only when I share another's body. Unicorn blood has strengthened but I need the Elixer of Life to truly live again. You will give me the Stone that... that is in your pocket!"

"Go to hell!" Harry declared.

"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled, "Better to save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same ends as your parents…they died begging for mercy."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted.

Quirrel walked backwards toward him, bring Voldemort closer. Voldemort was smiling.

"Yes, boy, your parents were brave. I killed your father first, he put up a courageous fight, but your mother needn't have died. She was trying to protect you and died begging for your life. Now, you will give me the Stone or her death will have been in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang towards the black flames, but Voldemort screamed: "GET THE STONE!"

Quirrel whirled about with his wand pointed at Harry. " _Accio_!"

Harry threw himself to the side and on the ground, grabbing the Stone as it left his pocket and held it close to his chest.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Quirrel said.

" _Everte!_ " Harry cast.

A purple beam came out of Quirrel's wand and collided with the white beam from Harry's wand; the backlash knocked both of them backwards.

"KILL HIM!" Voldemort screamed. Quirrel stood and cried out: " _Avada Kedavra_!"

Without thinking Harry held up the Sorcerer's Stone just in time for it to intercept the green jet from Quirrel's wand. The reddish Stone was briefly illuminated by green light, then it shattered into a million fragments.

"No!" Quirrel exclaimed. "No, no, no, no!"

" _Flipendo!_ " Harry cast and Quirrel was knocked backwards into the Mirror, which teetered and fell on top of him.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" Quirrel turned his and the Mirror suddenly went flying off of him and into the wall.

" _Locomotor Mortis!"_ Harry cast as Quirrel tried to stand but Quirrel jerked his wand, casting a silvery shield that blocked the spell. A stab of Quirrel's wand sent more ropes at him that bound Harry once again.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" Another jet of green light came out of Quirrel's wand and this time Harry could only watch helplessly as it hit his chest...and rebounded back towards a disbelieving Quirrel.

Quirrel's body fell down and then a black vapor emerged from it and then floated through the floor.

 _'I killed him! I killed him! Somehow, I killed him!'_ The ropes broke and vanished but for a long moment Harry just lay there, too stunned and horrified to move. But at last he started to get up when he heard the black flames in the doorway sputter and die out.

Professor McGonagall came rushing into the room with a speed that belied her age. She took in the room with a single glance, then turned to Harry.

"Come with me Mister Potter, I will take you back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Waiting there for him was Hermione, Elizabeth, and Neville, who all enfolded him in a hug when he entered.

"What happened?"

"You look terrible."

"Are you all right?"

McGonagall cleared her throat to remind them of her presence.

"Mister Potter, what exactly happened?"

"What's happened here, Mister Potter? _"_

"It was Quirrel," Harry said. The others inhaled sharply in surprise. "He was the one trying to steal the Stone _._ He tried to kill me and…and somehow the curse rebounded and killed him instead." McGonagall's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I see," she said. "You should know, however, that that was not the true Stone."

"What?" Four young voices echoed

"It was a _fake_?" Harry exclaimed in shock.

"Of course," said McGonagall. "That is why I was sure that there was no danger. Now, what you have done is not in doubt; the four of you were out after curfew in a restricted area. Ten points from Gryffindor, each." They looked at her with crestfallen gazes and lowered their heads. "However," McGonagall continued and they looked back up at her, "Even though the Stone was never in danger and even though you broke the rules, you nonetheless displayed courage in the true spirit of Gryffindor, doing what you believed was right regardless of the consequences. For that I award the four of you _fifty_ points for Gryffindor." Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville's eyes widened but McGonagall held up a warning finger. "But take heed, I do not want to hear about anything like this from you ever again. Is that understood."

They nodded. "Yes, Professor McGonagall."

"Very well, now I suggest you all get to bed." McGonagall turned and left.

"It was all for _nothing_." Harry said glumly once the portrait door was shut. "I became a murderer _for no reason_!"

"You're not a murderer, Harry," Hermione said; both girls hugged him tightly.

"Quirrel's dead because of me."

"But from what you say," Elizabeth said. "You didn't actually do anything. It was his own curse that killed him, not you."

"Because of me," Harry replied.

"Because of _Voldemort_ ," Elizabeth retorted. "Don't blame yourself for his actions."

"How did that happen anyway?" Neville wondered. "No one's supposed to survive that Curse, but you've done it twice now?"

"I have no idea."

"Well you said it yourself," Hermione said. "Whatever protected you as a baby is still protecting you."

"I saw a man die," said Harry. "And..." Harry trailed off uncertainly. Despite what they were telling him he still couldn't help but feel guilty...and worse.

(*)

The last Quidditch game was Gryffindor verses Ravenclaw. Wood told Harry right before they started. "Don't catch the Snitch unless have at least 70 points, otherwise Slytherin will win the House Cup." Yet even the thrill of flight couldn't take Harry's mind off of what had happened and he could barely concentrate on the game.

The Ravenclaw Seeker, a second-year girl named Cho Chang, suddenly went diving towards to Gryffindor goalposts and Harry went after her, suddenly entirely focused on her and the Snitch she had spotted. Harry bent forward, urging his faster Nimbus to catch up with her. He had to roll and dodge the Bludgers that both Ravenclaw Beaters suddenly sent in his direction, trying to slow him down. Fred and George sent the Bludgers towards two Ravenclaw Chasers. Harry zoomed down, cutting the chord of a sharp turn Chang made as she was reaching out her hand toward the Snitch; Harry cut in front of her and grabbed the Snitch just as she was about to touch it with her fingertips. That had been too close. Harry held up the Snitch but then noticed that the Chaser score counter for Gryffindor was only 50 points.

Wood was, to say the least, not happy. "Harry, I told you not to catch the Snitch until we had 70 points. We've lost the House Cup."

Harry retorted angrily: "If I _hadn't_ caught it when I did we would have lost this game and _both_ the Cups."

Wood sighed but nodded, conceding the point; they'd still won the Quidditch Cup after all, which was prestigious enough in its own right. Even so the taste of victory was bittersweet days later when the Great Hall was decked out in green and silver banners.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said. "Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff with three-hundred and fifty-two points; in third place, Ravenclaw with four-hundred and twenty-six, in second place Gryffindor with four hundred and sixty-two, and in first place is Slytherin with four hundred and seventy-two." A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry was sickened seeing Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. "Therefore, Slytherin wins the House Cup." The Slytherins broke into more clapping and cheering as they were presented with the House Cup.

The celebration was abruptly interrupted when the doors to the Great Hall were flung open and a squad of five Hit-Wizards in crimson robes marched in with wands drawn.

"What is this meaning of this?" Dumbledore demanded, rising to his feet.

The lead Hit-Wizard replied. "Two weeks ago the Ministry of Magic received an anonymous tip that Severus Snape has been trafficking in illegal unicorn parts." The silence was deadening. Snape's face went pasty white and then he stormed to his feet, glaring at Elizabeth—obviously suspecting that she was responsible. "Raids of his personal residence and of his private stores here in the castle have uncovered not only a large quantity of illegal unicorn organs, but also numerous other proscribed items as well as evidence of other recent crimes." The Hit-Wizards raised their wands. "Severus Tobias Snape, you are under arrest. Please surrender your wand, or we will use force."

Snape whirled to look at Dumbledore...who had collapsed back into his chair, looking weary and almost defeated. Snape went for his wand...and was hit by five silent Stunning Spells from the Hit-Wizards.

As Snape's unconscious form was levitated away someone, Harry never found out who but it had to be a muggleborn, started singing: "Ding dong the git is gone! Which old git? The Wicked Git! Ding dong the Wicked Git is gone!" Every other muggleborn and muggle-raised student joined in the chorus and it quickly spread; by the time the Hit-Wizards left with Snape, all of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff were singing it and either clapping or banging their goblets on the tables. The faculty, and in particular Dumbledore, did not know what to think as they had never seen three-quarters of the student body so united about anything.

(*)

Dumbledore entered his office and collapsed into his chair. For a moment he couldn't move at all but finally he managed to pull himself up and open a drawer full of phials of a golden liquid. Dumbledore grabbed one and downed it in a single gulp; a bit of color and strength returned to his body. Dumbledore carefully sealed it, returned it to the drawer and shut it with the utmost care. A large portion of his work on Alchemy with Nicholas had been the creation of his own Sorcerer's Stone, though he had kept it a secret and carefully hidden it. Nicholas had only given him the knowledge to make it, however; true immortality, he insisted, had to be earned.

Up until ten years ago, however, Dumbledore had used the Elixer only sparingly. He had no choice now. The Ministry-recommended guideline for timer-turner usage was that it only be used for periods of up to five hours per day and Dumbledore had been exceeding that for years. That was why he needed the Elixer of Life as his frequent time-turning was rapidly aging him.

It was most unfortunate that Severus had been arrested but although the unicorn poaching laws were seldom enforced, it would be politically unfeasible to fight this because the general public did not know that those laws were seldom enforced and there was no doubt that Bones would exploit that and make a huge public stink if anyone was dumb enough to try and defend Severus. And once people like Rita Skeeter started shining bright lights into dark places...

 _'But if Severus goes to Azkaban, especially if I don't defend him, I cannot count on him still being loyal to me if and when Voldemort finally returns'._ That would make doing what needed to be done when the time came a lot harder.

Dumbledore shook his head to send away such dark thoughts as it wasn't the time for that yet and instead got to thinking about whom to hire to replace Severus and Quirrel. 'I should have little difficulty persuading Horace to return, he was always fond of Lily.' But that still left him needing a Defense teacher; Dumbledore began rifling through the papers on desk, hoping that somewhere in there was an application for the Defense position. With the position apparently cursed it had become progressively harder to find not just applicants but qualified applicants.

A knock on the door briefly interrupted him.

"Enter."

Minerva McGonagall entered. "You wanted to see me, Albus?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "It's about Harry Potter."

"What about him?"

"I want you to speak to him before he leaves," said Dumbledore. "Make sure that he knows he has to spend the summers with his relatives just as before." Dumbledore was prepared for her to protest and was relieved when she simply nodded.

"Very well, is that all?"

"Yes."

McGonagall left and once she was out of earshot of the gargoyle her usually stern expression soften into a giggle that her students would never have thought her capable of. But McGonagall, for all that she played the strict disciplinarian for her students, was still a Gryffindor at heart.

Albus still didn't know. Somehow, he still hadn't figured it out. McGonagall had realized that there was more than friendship between Harry James Potter and Elizabeth Iris Black within their first month of classes. Even more so than the previous pair of students named Potter and Black she'd taught, Harry and Elizabeth acted more like siblings than friends. And if Albus still hadn't figured it out, then Minerva McGonagall was not about to enlighten him. She wasn't sure how it had happened, but given the choice between trusting Karen Black or trusting the Dursley's…well that wasn't really a choice at all. From what she remembered from observing them, the Dursley's were the worst sort of muggles and not fit to raise a puppy let alone a child and certainly not a _wizard_ child. And _especially not_ Harry Potter.

(*)

From within his holding cell at the Ministry of Magic, Severus Snape scowled at Amelia Bones, who stood outside smirking.

"Why did you have me arrested?" Snape asked. "We both know that St. Mungo's occasionally orders 'questionable potions' from anonymous brewers and the Ministry has always looked the other way."

"True," said Bones. "But if I had known that you were one of those anonymous brewers, I would have dropped the hammer on you _years_ ago and so would have Barty."

"I don't understand."

"Well let me enlighten you," said Bones. "Hogwarts is the only magical school in Britain. Which means that it is the only source of N.E.W.T level potions brewers. Ever since you took over the Potions Master position there was a steady decline in the number of Hogwarts graduates who passed N.E.W.T. Potions. In your entire tenure at Hogwarts, only _forty_ Hogwarts students passed N.E.W.T level potions. If old Slughorn had still been teaching it would have been more than three times that many. Aurors, Healers and many other careers require N.E.W.T level potions, which means that because of _you_ the Aurors are severely understrength." Nymphadora Tonks was their most recent recruit and there were no prospects in the latest Hogwarts class. Throughout her entire rant Snape just stared her at, blinking. "It is almost as if you _want_ the Ministry to be weak if your master were to ever return. And _that_ is why I dropped the hammer on you. I hope you enjoy Azkaban, you'll have lots of time to get caught up with your 'old buddies' from the war."

The reasons it had taken so long to arrest Snape after receiving the anonymous tip were threefold: partly because it took a while for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn, partly because Bones had insisted that the searches be as thorough as humanly and magically possible, but mostly because she'd had to do all of that very quietly and carefully in order to avoid tipping off Dumbledore. Every single one of the Hit-Wizards assigned to the job had been someone who had wanted to be an Auror but who had only gotten an E on their Potions O.W.L and thus had been forced to settle for becoming a Hit-Wizard.

The distinctions between the two were often lost on outsiders, but Aurors were the elite of the Ministry who hunted actual dark wizards who used the Dark Arts while Hit-Wizards merely hunted dangerous criminals. Hit-Wizards were trained to incapacitate and only use potentially lethal force as a last resort; although Aurors were also only expected to kill as a last resort, they were trained for situations where the opposition could only be defeated with potentially lethal force.

(*)

Exam grades came out three days after the feast. Hermione Granger and Mafalda Prewett, of course, were tied for the top slot in the first years, but Harry and Elizabeth also got good marks and even Neville did reasonably well with his high Herbology grade making up for his poor Potions one. Ron Weasley, however, failed all of his classes and so became the first Hogwarts student in living memory to be held back a year.

Harry was like an automaton as he boarded the Hogwarts Express the next day, paying no attention to anyone or anything. All throughout the trip Harry stared out the window at the countryside; a part of him didn't want it to end at all. Going home would mean telling his godmother what had happened and Harry was not at all sure how she would react. It would also mean facing what had happened. Elizabeth and Hermione sat on either side of him, holding him tightly and warmly; they had swapped phone numbers so as to keep in touch over the summer but even that prospect, even the possibility of seeing the Dunstable Dueling Championship which would be held in a few weeks, none of that excited him as he kept replaying in his mind what had happened with Quirrel.

Even though he hadn't meant to do it, even though he hadn't actually done anything, he still felt dirty...as if he actually _had_ done it. What had he been thinking anyway? Rushing off like that, dragging his friends along, in spite of the danger. All for _nothing._

At last they arrived at Kings Cross and Harry had no choice but to get off onto Platform 9 3/4. There waiting for them was Karen; she greeted them with a warm grin that quickly faded when she saw Harry's despondent expression. She pulled him into a hug and then asked the question Harry had been dreading the entire trip:

"What's wrong?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about Snape, St. Mungo's, the Ministry and questionable potions is also borrowed with permission from "Faery Heroes" by SilentlyWatches. My part is the bit about the Aurors being diminished because of Snape; we know from DH that there are no other schools in Britain to take up the slack.


	9. The Dunsel at Dunstable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where laws are unevenly enforced by design.

_The terrible, livid face of Voldemort, with wide, mad, red eyes and snake nostrils, glared at him._

 

_"Give me the Stone!"_

_"Go to hell!" Harry declared._

_"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled, "Better to save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same ends as your parents…they died begging for mercy."_

_"LIAR!" Harry shouted._

_Quirrel walked backwards toward him, bring Voldemort closer. Voldemort was smiling._

_"Yes, boy, your parents were brave. I killed your father first, he put up a courageous fight, but your mother needn't have died. She was trying to protect you and died begging for your life. Now, you will give me the Stone or her death will have been in vain."_

_"NEVER!"_

_Harry sprang towards the black flames, but Voldemort screamed: "Kill him!"_

_Quirrel whirled about with his wand pointed at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!" A jet of green light came out of Quirrel's wand Harry could only watch helplessly as it hit his chest…_

"NO!" Harry Potter woke up in a cold sweat. He rubbed his forehead and his fingers brushed lightly against his lightning bolt scar; his room was still dark and he fumbled about for his glasses, finally finding them and putting them on. The clock by his bedside mocked him with its display: 2:59 A.M.

Harry pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. Last month he had faced Voldemort and survived again, yet although Quirrel had died from the rebounded curse, his master still lived and every time Harry had one of these nightmares—which was to say every night for the past few weeks—he had woken up drenched in a cold sweat and wondering where Voldemort might be now.

Karen's reaction to what had happened the previous year had been entirely predictable; she had been shocked and horrified by the facts that Voldemort had possessed a teacher with seemingly no one realizing it, that Elizabeth had been sent into the Forbidden Forest for a detention, and that Voldemort had tried to kill him. In fact, she had been almost as upset at _him_ for going into danger as she had been at Dumbledore, and she had threatened to ground them—literally as well as figuratively—if they ever pulled a stunt like that again.

She'd tried to get him counseling but that unfortunately was one of many areas where the Wizarding World lagged far behind the muggle one. While Mind Healers existed, they only treated people who had been subjected to a mind-affecting magic like the Memory Charm or the Confundus Charm. Even the concept of psychiatric counseling was completely foreign to the Wizarding World; if it couldn't be cured with a potion or spell, then it wasn't considered a problem. Muggle counseling was of course out of the question because of the Statute of Secrecy.

He was slowly coming to terms with the fact that Quirrel's death was not really his fault. Quirrel's possession had been slowly killing him anyway—that was why he'd had to drink the unicorn blood: not for Voldemort directly, but to give himself strength which Voldemort could absorb. And it had been Quirrel's own curse which killed him, and Harry himself hadn't actually done anything—just as he hadn't actually done anything to Voldemort to the first time around. Quirrel had been dead, one way or the other, the moment he'd allowed himself to be possessed by Voldemort. Yet even though Harry knew those things on an intellectual level, emotionally he still felt responsible. It was easy for someone to say in the abstract that they weren't going to feel guilt over the guilty getting what they deserved; actually seeing someone die because of you was entirely different. Especially when you knew your own involvement had been pointless.

Harry lay there on his bed, trying to go back to sleep, but it seemed that just as he drifted off he was rudely pulled back into the world of the waking by his alarm clock. Harry reached over and jammed his fist down on the snooze button with far more force than was necessary, then turned over and curled up in his bed. Five minutes later it went off again. Harry rolled over, winced at the sunlight coming from the window, unplugged his clock, and then rolled back over and pulled his sheets and comforter over his head. He had just drifted off again when a loud knocking came on his door.

Harry sighed and Elizabeth opened his bedroom door; unlike him, she was already fully dressed in a blue skirt and a black-strapped top.

"Why are you still in bed? Did you forget what today is?"

"Friday?" Harry said blankly, his mind feeling like it was made of clay.

"Hermione comes over today."

In a flash Harry sat straight up, no longer feeling tired. "Really? She is? When?"

"Soon," Elizabeth replied with a smirk. "Now get yourself showered and dressed, loverboy."

Harry flushed at term 'loverboy' and Elizabeth walked out, closing the door behind her. Harry had talked to Hermione on the phone almost every day since getting back and Elizabeth couldn't resist teasing him about it. Harry grabbed his clothes and toiletries and went to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he was showered and dressed in jeans and a shirt.

"Is she here yet?" Harry asked as he dug into his breakfast.

"Relax, Harry," Karen said. "She's not coming over until dinner."

Harry scowled and turned to glare at Elizabeth, who grinned shamelessly.

"Why did you tell me she'd be here soon?"

"So that you'd get up, of course."

Harry sighed. "Still no mail from Neville?" He asked.

"Nothing," Karen replied.

"He mentioned his grandmother was a strict lady," Harry said. "But I didn't imagine she'd be this strict."

Most of the day was spent cleaning the house and preparing dinner. Harry found the mindless chores a refreshing diversion. At 5pm the doorbell rang; Harry darted over to the door and opened it; three people stood in the doorway but Harry only had eyes for the girl in front, who was carrying an overnight bag.

"Hermione!"

"Hi, Harry."

She stepped inside, dropped her bag and they briefly embraced. As the others entered Karen and Elizabeth arrived.

"These are my parents," Hermione said as everyone shook hands.

"I'm Karen, it's good to meet you, this is my daughter Elizabeth and my godson Harry."

"I'm Richard, good to meet too." said Mr. Granger.

"Helen, a pleasure," Mrs. Granger said, then turned to Harry. "We've heard so much about you, Harry, Hermione can't seem to stop talking about you."

"Mum!" Hermione's face turned bright red. Her father just mussed up her hair.

"You know it's true, dear," he said. Harry closed the door, took their coats and hung them up.

Karen led them into the dining room, which she had set with their good dishes, and they took a seat. While the meal was served conversation flowed freely.

"So, Harry," Mr. Granger. "Hermione tells me that you play a game called 'Quidditch' that involves flying around on broomsticks?"

Harry smiled. "That's right, there are four balls and seven positions. The balls are called the Quaffle, the Bludgers and the Snitch. Three of the players are Chasers and it is their job to score points by putting the Quaffle through one of three goalhoops; each goal is worth 10 points. The hoops are guarded by another player, the Keeper. Then there are the Beaters who use bats to hit the two Bludgers, which fly around randomly attacking players. Don't worry," Harry quickly added at Mr. and Mrs. Granger's suddenly concerned expressions, "We all wear padded armor and the Bludger's are programmed to not inflict lethal or potentially lethal injuries, their purpose is simply to add an element of chaos to the game. The Beaters job is to keep the bludgers away from their team and hit them toward the opposing team. Then there's my position, the Seeker. It's my job to find and catch the fourth ball, the Snitch, which is very small and fast. Catching the Snitch is worth a hundred and fifty points and also immediately ends the game."

Mr. Granger frowned. "That sounds a bit unfair, though, if one player can provide such a substantial gain over the others and win the game single-handedly."

"Actually the team that catches the Snitch isn't always the winning team," Harry explained. "Depending on how long it takes to find the Snitch, it's possible for the other's side's Chasers to build up a big enough lead that they still win even if the other side catches the Snitch. It's happened a lot actually, and some teams even have that as their standard strategy because while pretty much anyone can become a Chaser, Beater, or Keeper with sufficient practice, Seeker is a much more specialized position and requires a certain amount of innate talent."

"Of course," Elizabeth added, "there have been times when that is a valid criticism, like against Hufflepuff where you caught the Snitch within seconds."

"Yeah, that was a bit of an anti-climax," Harry admitted, "especially after how hard Wood had drilled us in the weeks leading up to the game."

"Wood?"

"My Quidditch Captain," Harry explained. "Oliver Wood, a rising 6th year and a very good Keeper, but also a fanatical taskmaster."

"Hermione also mentioned," Mrs. Granger added. "That tomorrow you'll be going to see a different sport?"

"The Dunstable Dueling Championship, yes," Harry said. "Dueling is also a sport, you can think of as roughly equivalent to say, boxing or wrestling."

"Interested in that too, are you?" Mr. Granger asked.

"In dueling, yes," said Harry. "A long time ago the custom of dueling was also as widely practiced among wizards as it was among muggles, but attitudes changed and today it's very rare among wizards to settle a dispute with a duel. Of course, since both sides have magic, wizard duels often last a lot longer and are almost never lethal."

The conversation moved to discussing classes and their other classmates, though finally they went down to the basement so that Hermione's parents could see what she'd learned.

"I must say," Helen observed as they headed down the stairs. "This 'Trace' seems quite unfair to students like Hermione."

"That's probably the point," Karen admitted with a sigh. The Trace was absurdly easy to get around; not only was it fooled by the same Masking Spells that one could use to make oneself unfindable by owls, but any kind of area ward like a Fidelius Charm or an Anti-Apparition spell also interfered with it. "Unfortunately, there is a lot of discrimination against first-generation mages; it's stupid, but at the moment there's not much that can be done."

"Could you cast these 'wards' on our house?" Arthur asked.

"I wish I could, but I'm not a certified ward-caster, so I would hesitate at trying." The basement was divided into two unevenly sized rooms, separated by a door near the staircase. The smaller room was finished and full of bookshelves; the larger was carpeted but otherwise unfinished. "Here we go," Karen said.

Hermione drew her wand from her holster; unlike Harry and Elizabeth, who wore their holsters on their belts, Hermione had a wrist holster that could be concealed by a sleeve. Karen conjured up chairs for herself and Hermione's parents, and Hermione started the demonstration. She began with Transfiguration, starting by turning matchsticks into needles and working her way through the first year curriculum until she briefly turned Harry's glasses case into a snuffbox. Then she switched to Charms and showed off all the different things you could do with the Hover Charm.

Finally, when she moved on to Defense, Karen put up Cushioning Charms on the floor and walls so that Hermione could use Harry and Elizabeth as mostly good-humored test subjects for the Leg-Locker, Full-Body-Bind, Knockback and Knockdown Jinxes. They then took turns showing off the slightly more advanced jinxes and curses from Harry's 'Curses and Countercurses' book and from his mother's notes, using conjured dummies for most of them.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry finally said. "Do you want to see our library?"

"You know me too well, Harry," Hermione said with a grin. She linked arms with him and he led her and Elizabeth to the other room. It had a door to the outside, rugs on the floor, and bookshelves lining every wall along with a few chairs and a desk in the middle. He flicked on the lights and Hermione started scanning the shelves.

"So," Harry said to Hermione. "What do you think?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Hermione said. "But I was expecting it to be bigger. I was expecting your whole house to be much bigger."

Elizabeth snorted. "What? Like some huge country mansion with more rooms than anyone could practically use, a library with more books than anyone could ever read, a garden out front and a Quidditch pitch in the back?"

"I know, I know, it sounds totally ridiculous," Hermione acknowledged. "But still, you're both from old and well-to-do families, so I just figured..."

Harry chuckled. "Actually only the Blacks are old money; although my parents were reasonably well off, that's only because my ancestors earned that money the hard way. The only house that I 'own' is the one in Godric's Hollow where my parents were murdered, but that's been condemned and turned into a memorial." Only in his great-grandfather's time had the Potter's reached roughly the same social status as the Black's, which was why Great-Auntie Dorea hadn't been disowned for marrying Great-Uncle Charlus, though Great-Grampa Henry's outspokenly pro-muggle politics was why there was only a 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' instead of a 'Sacred Twenty-Nine'. Great-Grampa Henry had also been only the second Potter to sit on the Wizengamot, with the first having been Ralston Potter back in the 1600's. "

"And while my extended family does come from old money," Elizabeth said. "The Black Family has regrettably fallen on hard times and currently has this house, plus a decrepit one in London currently haunted by doxies, mad portraits and a nutter house-elf. All of the decent people on my family tree are either dead or cast out, most of them both. The only reason _I_ even have access to what's left of the family fortune is because there's literally no one else left to claim it."

Harry continued, "So, no, neither of us has any properties in France, the Caribbean, or anywhere else in the world. There aren't any titles of nobility in the Wizarding World; no one calls themselves 'Lord' except for Voldemort. I'm not the secret heir to Atlantis, Avalon, Merlin, or any of the Four Founders."

"We each only have one vault in Gringotts." Elizabeth chimed in.

"The only ring I'm ever going to wear is my wedding ring. My only notable ancestors are an eccentric herbalist named Linfred of Stinchcombe, Ignotus Peverell who created my Invisibility Cloak, and my grandpa Fleamont who invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and dueled everyone who made fun his name."

"Darn," Hermione said dramatically. "There go my plans for world domination."

And then the three of them burst out laughing.

After Hermione's parents had left Karen had them all change into their pajamas. Harry, wearing long green bottoms and a red top, took a seat on the sofa in the living room. Hermione, wearing pink, took a seat on one side of Harry while Elizabeth, wearing blue, sat on his other side. By acclamation they decided to watch the Back to the Future trilogy. When Karen came to check on them at midnight she found all three of them asleep, with Hermione resting her head on Harry's chest. Smiling, she tugged a blanket over all three of them and went to her bedroom.

Harry's eyes blinked open the next morning and he was immediately aware of three things: one that the sun was shining in his face through the window, second that he hadn't had any nightmares, and third that was some kind of weight on his chest. Blinking and looking around, he noticed that it was Hermione, still asleep; she looked so peaceful and content in that moment, almost angelic. At last she stirred and looked sleepily into his eyes.

"Good morning," she said, straightening up and rubbing her eyes. Harry took the moment to the rub the sand out of his eyes as well.

"It _is_ a good morning," Harry said. "Haven't slept that well in a while."

"You make a very nice pillow, if a bit lumpy," Hermione replied.

Elizabeth came in already dressed. "Well, now that you two lovebirds are up, we can have breakfast." Harry and Hermione both flushed at her comment and stammered incoherent protests that they were just friends.

(*)

"Okay, Mister Potter," Hermione said hours later after they crawled out of the Floo at Dunstable. "You dragged me along to this, so you might as well start explaining what exactly I'll be seeing."

Harry grinned at her, then said. "Okay. Dueling as a sport has two types. The first is formal dueling, this is the oldest style and also requires incredible amounts of patience: both on the participants and for the viewers, because it is very slow paced. One person attacks with a single spell, the other defends with a single spell, then they alternate. Lots of rules about what can be cast, how fast you can cast, what you are and aren't allowed to use, lots of different fouls and penalties, lots of different variants depending on what both participants agree to. It's a very rigid and, well, formal style of fighting and the duel ends when someone is disarmed, immobilized or otherwise incapacitated, or drops their wand in surrender."

"How very civilized," Hermione quipped.

"But these days formal dueling has mostly fallen by the wayside, save for its occasional use as a tool to settle disputes. This is probably what Malfoy was thinking off when he was challenging me. The second type, which is what I prefer, is called Freestyle Dueling. Unlike Formal Dueling, Freestyle Dueling has far fewer rules, which all basically boil down to: No killing and no illegal magics."

"What's an illegal magic?" Hermione asked

"Any magic whose use is proscribed or restricted by the Ministry," Harry said.

"So basically," Karen added, "Anything that the Ministry has classified as 'dark magic' or a 'Dark Art'."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Hermione said with a nod.

"No, not really," Karen replied. "The vast majority of magic is morally neutral, there are only a handful of truly dark magics like the Unforgivables; most of the stuff given that label is just magics that the Ministry doesn't want the general public to know about or use."

Hermione blinked, then asked. "Why?"

"Control," Elizabeth answered with a snort. "Why else?"

"So anyway," Harry continued as they arrived at the private box Karen had managed to reserve by invoking the name of one of the prospective occupants. "In addition to the two types of dueling, there are also different _ways_ of fighting. Not all spells are created equally and where you hold your wand in relation to your body—and how you hold it— determines which spells are easier to cast and which are harder."

Karen got Hermione a set of Omnioculars, she, Harry and Elizabeth already each had one. The preliminary matches started; Hermione split her attention between actually watching the action through the Omnioculars and listening to Harry's excited commentary, with Elizabeth and Karen also occasionally chiming in. Hermione soon noticed what Harry had mentioned about different ways of holding the wand because almost none of them used the standard pose they were learning in schools. Most, instead of holding their wand out in front, held it back at chest level and led with their body though the exact grip still varied widely; a few held their wand over their head like a scorpion tail. Those latter, Hermione noticed, were the ones who tended to cast the most destructive spells that were on the edge of legality.

Unfortunately, Harry's favorite duelist, Erik Lee, did not make the cut for the finalists—doing fairly good against most of his competition and much better in a rematch against the Irish Thomas O'Neill but still getting edged out in the final ratings. The final match pitted O'Neill against Hugo Park—a duelist whom, Hermione recalled, Harry did not have a high opinion of. She soon realized why as Park had a tendency to push against the bounds of even the relatively permissive Freestyle rules, and had a very simplistic approach to fighting—holding his wand in the scorpion tail stance she had observed in other duelists and going straight to blasting away with as much power as possible with little attempt at style, subtlety, or variation.

"He's like a sledgehammer," Harry opined. "All brute force, nothing else."

"It's carried him this far," Elizabeth pointed out. "It may be simple, but it's obviously been effective for him."

"Power has its place," Harry admitted. "But so does strategy and subtlety as O'Neill is about to demonstrate." As if Harry's words had been a cue, O'Neill took advantage of all the rubble that Park's blasting spells were creating by starting to transfigure them into animals, mostly dogs and snakes. Park switched his focus to attacking O'Neill's creations, while O'Neill focused on countering Park's spells and protecting his creatures as they advanced, using spell-chains of counter-curses and Breaker Curses. Spell-chains used nonverbal and point-casting to chain together multiple spells so that they could be cast in a single wand movement, which made them a great time-saver in fights.

Finally, at a critical moment when Park was distracted blowing apart the creatures, O'Neill cracked Park's shield and snuck in a spell-chain known as the Dueler's Hello, so called because it was often the first set of spells cast by duelists—it consisted of a Silencing Charm, a Full-Body-Bind and an Incarceration Spell. All three spells hit Park and he suddenly stopped moving. O'Neill was breathing heavily but still standing, and so was swiftly declared the winner.

"I still don't like Thomas O'Neill for defeating Erik Lee," Harry announced as they left. "But at least he beat that idiot Park."

On their way out they stopped at a stall selling books; Harry immediately spotted three books that he wanted to get, two were the first two books in the best-selling "Duelist's Arsenal Series": 'Fighting Fundamentals' and 'Speed Tricks and Cunning Combinations'. The third was the Dunstable Dueling Championship Almanac, with a complete history of the event and all the major statistics for the past fifty years. Seeing the first two books, Elizabeth and Hermione decided that they wanted their own copies. Karen gave them a long-suffering look but got the books anyway.

"But these are your birthday presents, you hear me?" She told Harry and Elizabeth. "Don't expect anything else except clothes."

"Yes, okay," Harry said, in a much better mood than he had been yesterday morning.

Yes, mum," Elizabeth agreed.


	10. Warnings and Omens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where there are no teaching requirements and no accreditation standards.

"Have you finally lost your rocker, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall wanted to know. She and all the other (living) Hogwarts teachers stood in Dumbledore's office facing his desk. " _Gilderoy Lockhart_? Please tell me this is a joke."

 

"He was the only applicant." Albus Dumbledore replied.

"Do you remember what he was like as a student?" McGonagall asked.

"Lockhart was a disgrace to my House," Flitwick said. "He was like a slightly cleverer Ron Weasley, no offense Minerva."

"None taken, Filius," McGonagall replied. She considered the youngest Weasley boy a disgrace to _her_ House.

"Smart enough to excel when he wanted to, but very lazy and obnoxious; always wanting to be first and always looking for short-cuts and attention."

"Not to mention," McGonagall added, "all those ridiculous stunts he pulled; even the Weasley Twins have never carved their names into the Quidditch Pitch in twenty-foot letters."

"Or modified the Dark Mark spell to project their own face," Professor Vector said

"Or shut down breakfast on Valentine's Day by sending themselves eight-hundred cards," Professor Sinistra said.

"Or arrogantly boasted that they would make a Sorcerer's Stone while still a student," said Professor Babbling.

"And then lead England to victory in the Quidditch World Cub," said Professor Kettleburn.

"And then become the youngest Minister of Magic," said Professor Burbage, "none of which he ever did, of course."

Professor Trelawney dramatically announced: "Death will stalk the halls of the school if Gilderoy Lockhart becomes a teacher." As usual all of her colleagues ignored her pronouncement.

The newest Hogwarts Professor, and the new Head of Slytherin, clasped his hands over his large belly and added. "None of us believe for a moment that he's actually done any of the things in his books, and some of my sources suspect fraud."

In fact, Dumbledore had no doubt that Lockhart was a fraud as he personally knew two of the wizards for whose life work Lockhart had taken credit. Bringing him back into an ordinary school setting would expose Lockhart as the charlatan and fraud he was in short order; though, like with the new Head of Slytherin, Dumbledore had had to sweeten the pot a bit by dangling the promise of Harry Potter over Lockhart's fame-hungry head.

"He's put his entire collected works on the book list for all years," Sprout said. "And his books are expensive, our less well-off students may not be able to afford them."

"Not to mention the example he'll set as a teacher," said Flitwick.

"What do you think our students will learn from such a vain, celebrity-hungry man?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore replied. "There is plenty to be learned even from a bad teacher: what not to do, how not to be."

"Oh really?" McGonagall said. "Is that also why you kept Snape around for so long?" Now that he was no longer a teacher, McGonagall no longer felt compelled to pay him any respect.

"Partly," Albus admitted.

"Well that backfired," the Head of Slytherin replied. "And now the Ministry is at an all-time low for Aurors—with so many war veterans retiring and so little new blood. Not having a proper Defense teacher will only exacerbate that problem."

"I understand all of your concerns," said Albus. "But let me repeat myself: He was the _only_ applicant for the position. Quirrel's death scared off a lot of people."

"So call in a favor from the old crowd," McGonagall said. "I know for a fact that Remus Lupin is always needing a new job, and even with his condition he'd be a darn sight better than _Lockhart_."

"Unfortunately, as you say, Lupin's condition makes employing him difficult and politically tricky."

(*)

Harry opened the door to his bedroom and was about to collapse on his bed when he spotted a house-elf already on it.

And then he blinked. A house-elf? They didn't have any house-elves as Karen refused to be a party to enslavement, even seemingly willing enslavement.

"Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?" Harry asked

The house-elf slid off his bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. "Dobby is sorry for startling you, Harry Potter, sir...Dobby was not meaning to do so..but Dobby has come to tell you, sir…it is difficult, sir…Dobby wonders where to begin."

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

The house-elf burst into noisy tears. "Sit…sit down? Never…never ever…never has Dobby been asked to sit down by a wizard—like an equal—"

Harry managed to get the house-elf to sit on the bed with him but Dobby stared at him with an expression of watery adoration.

"You must not have a decent family," Harry said.

Dobby shook his head. Then, suddenly, he leaped up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't—what are you doing? Stop." Harry sprang up and pulled Dobby back onto the bed.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," the elf said, looking slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…"

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered. "Oh, no, sir, no . . . Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir —"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments..."

"Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"

Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude. "Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby...Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew..."

Harry's face started to heat and he said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I haven't done anything great yet—,"

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—"

"That was my mum, not me," Harry said. "I was a fifteen-month old baby."

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago...that Harry Potter escaped yet again."

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

"What? Not go back? What are you talking about? Of course I'm going back."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf 's arm to stop him. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on — this hasn't got anything to do with Voldemort, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not — not _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ , sir, but...but —" Dobby's eyes were wide as he tried to give Harry a hint.

"One of his followers?" Dobby trembled for a moment, then slammed his head into the wall again. Harry jerked him back. "Well I can't just stay here; my friends will still be in danger."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.

Harry frowned. "So _you're_ the one who's been interfering in my mail!"

Dobby shuffled his feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best—"

"Where are the letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Nevile's scrawl, and Hagrid's scribble. Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir..." Harry made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach. "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!" He drew his wand and pointed it at Dobby. He'd had time to learn many more of the spells from 'Curses and Countercurses' over the summer, all of them in fact.

"Dobby knows that Harry Potter is still underage," Dobby said, though he still cringed.

"This is house is warded against the Trace," Harry said, "Like all wizarding dwellings are, as you no doubt know."

Dobby held up his free hand as he continued to cringe and cower. "Dobby does not want to fight Harry Potter."

"Well I don't want to fight you," Harry replied. "So please, just give me those letters."

"What's going on in here?" Elizabeth and Karen walked in wearing their dressing gowns. Dobby, startled, dropped the letters and disappeared with a loud 'crack'.

"Was that a house-elf?"

"I found out the problem with our mail," Harry said, scooping up the envelopes.

"Why was someone's house-elf interfering with our mail?" Karen frowned.

"He wasn't able to say much," Harry said. "But I was able to piece together that he belongs to a Death Eater who is planning to do something horrible at Hogwarts next term."

"Well isn't that delightfully vague," Elizabeth observed. "But that still doesn't explain the mail."

"He thought that if I was isolated from my friends, that I wouldn't go back to Hogwarts." Harry snorted.

"Well obviously he's from a family that doesn't know about the telephone," Elizabeth replied.

"If it's a Death Eater family, that's hardly surprising," Karen explained.

"A Death Eater, hmm?" Elizabeth said. "Well it can't be Snape, he's now in an eight-by-eight cell surrounded by dementors. Has to be one of the others who got free."

Karen furrowed her brow and started checking off her fingers. "Let's see, there's Karkaroff—though last I heard he's the Headmaster of Durmstrang….hmm, there's…Avery…Nott…the Carrows… Macnair…Selwyn…Yaxley…Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy…" Karen's eyes suddenly widened.

"What?" Harry and Elizabeth asked.

"I just remembered that Fenrir Greyback is also still at large, though only because he was never captured; no amount of bribes could keep him out of Azkaban."

"The name sounds vaguely familiar," said Elizabeth and Harry nodded.

"It should," Karen replied. "Greyback is a monster even by Death Eater standards. He's a werewolf who deliberately infects others with lycanthropy. One of our best friends, Remus Lupin, was one of his victims."

"Really?" Harry and Elizabeth said.

"But there is little chance that the house-elf belongs to Greyback," Karen said. "Not only is he on the lam, not only are werewolves not even allowed to own house-elves, but someone like him would never want one anyway."

"So, still nine possibilities," Harry said.

"Ten," Karen corrected. "The Carrows are siblings."

"Fine ten suspects," said Harry. "Any way to narrow it down?"

"Crabbe and Goyle are idiots, they couldn't organize a drinking contest in a brewery," Karen said.

"Like father, like son," Harry observed.

"Macnair works for the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—,"

"—so he's an executioner, in other words—," Elizabeth said with distaste.

"The point is, he's also a follower not a schemer," Karen said. "Much the same can be said for the Carrows. That leaves Avery, Nott, Selwyn, Yaxley, and Malfoy. They're all from old pureblood families that would own house-elves, and they're all cunning, powerful and well-connected."

"But what could be so dangerous that one of their house-elves would try to warn Harry?" Elizabeth frowned.

"It is odd," Karen agreed. "House elves would normally never even think of betraying their families, so for this one to try that, it would have to…well, _dislike_ his family…"

"I also gathered that much," Harry interjected. "Not surprising if they're a Death Eater family."

"Yes," Karen continued. "But even so, for one of their house-elves to do this, they would also have to convince themselves that the family itself…or at least one family member…is in danger."

"Well if there's really a plan to do something dangerous at Hogwarts," Harry said. "It's possible that the family's own child or children would also be at risk."

"Or at least," Karen added, "he was able to convince _himself_ that they would be in danger, house-elves can be very clever at interpreting things when they want to be.

"Unfortunately," said Elizabeth. "Even if that is true, that still doesn't narrow down the possibilities any further."

Harry sorted through the envelopes Dobby had dropped. Half of them were addressed to Elizabeth and so Harry handed them to her and they started reading through their missing letters.

"What did Neville write you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Most of its fairly normal stuff," Harry said. "News, his grandmother's reaction to our little stunt, that sort of thing; the most recent ones are filled with concern at our lack of replies.

"Same here more or less," Elizabeth agreed. "We should send him a letter to make sure he knows that we're all right and haven't forgotten him…Ha!"

"What?" Harry said.

"Hagrid's letter," Elizabeth said. "It rambles on here and there, but it's basically an apology for the whole forest detention thing. Apparently, _someone_ …" Elizabeth grinned at her mother, who smirked "…sent him a Howler that ripped him a new one, and now that Snape's in Azkaban for unicorn poaching, Hagrid is profusely apologizing, saying that since Dumbledore trusted Snape, he never imagined that Snape might actually _lie_ to him." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "After all, who could imagine that _Albus Dumbledore_ might hire and trust someone who is untrustworthy."

"That could also be said about Quirrel," Harry noted.

"Exactly," Elizabeth agreed.

A week after Dobby's visit Hogwarts letters arrived. Harry frowned when he read the book list for this year:

_Second-year students will require:_

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk

 _Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

"Who the frack is Gilderoy Lockhart?" Elizabeth wondered.

"Never heard of him," Harry said.

"I have," said Karen. "He's some kind of author, though I've never read his books."

"Our new teacher must be a fan," Harry noted.

That Saturday Karen, Harry and Elizabeth went to Diagon Alley where they got their books and restocked their other supplies. Harry started reading Lockhart's books and was very quickly disappointed for they simply dragged on and on, obscuring the plot with so much purple prose, pointless fluff, useless tangents and frequent pauses for narcissistic self-descriptions. If not for all that Harry rather thought they'd be over in just fifty pages. At one point, simply out of boredom, Harry set two of the books side by side and started comparing them; he found that many of the parts where Lockhart departed from the plot to talk about himself looked like they had been transcribed almost verbatim.

' _How can anyone find this drivel entertaining or think that it has any educational value at all?_ ' Any muggle literature critic would have taken one look at the books and promptly declared Lockhart a Mary Sue of the worst degree; everything about him and the things he supposedly did was just too perfect to be real. It was like those ridiculous children's storybooks, the so-called "Adventures of Harry Potter" which had him doing all sorts of absurd things like fighting werewolves as a toddler and while still a child having adventures which rivaled those of Indiana Jones and James Bond. One of them was even so similar to 'Temple of Doom' that Harry suspected plagiarism. Those books also severely exaggerated his abilities; his fantasy counterpart possessed—among other preposterous talents—deliberate wandless magic on a par with wand magic. Harry, even with only a first-years knowledge of magical theory, knew that was impossible with modern wizardry. Ancient sorcery had been different but those methods had been discarded for very good reasons: they were extremely haphazard and dangerous to the user, both physically and mentally. That had been the whole reason for the invention of the staff and later the wand.

Tonks had given Harry a few of those books several years ago as a joke and one of the worst parts about them, in Harry's opinion, was their universal and bizarre attempts to link his genealogy to some other famous wizard or witch, usually Merlin or one (or more) of the Four Founders, but Morgana Le Fay and Nimue were also popular. As far as Harry knew the only connection he had to any of the Four Founders was the fact that one of Cadmus Peverell's descendants had married one of Salazar Slytherin's descendants; as Harry was a descendant of _Ignotus_ Peverell, that connection was both very indirect and extremely remote.

Even worse, in Harry's opinion, were the claims that Lily _must_ have had at least one squib in her family tree. While it was true that many muggleborns _were_ the descendants of squibs, many of them _weren't_ and frankly Harry found the presumption insulting and demeaning to his mother's memory. Almost as popular (and even more absurd) was the claim that Lily must have been adopted and was actually a pureblood orphan who'd been placed with a muggle family—often as part of some nefarious conspiracy that fantasy-Harry would find himself caught up in and have to defeat and expose—while still a child. And, of course, fantasy-Harry _never_ had nightmares or self-doubts.

It was, Harry reflected, amazing the kind of contortions people were willing to undergo just to avoid admitting that Lily had proved them wrong; they looked for any excuse (no matter how implausible) to take that from her and instead claim that she was really one of them and thus proof that they were actually right instead.

(*)

Three weeks later Karen took them to Kings Cross. Karen and Elizabeth walked through the barrier but when Harry tried to go through, his foot hit a solid wall. "What the hell?" Harry said. He pressed his hand to barrier. It was completely solid. He kicked it and his foot came away hurting. After a few minutes of pounding away at the barrier completely uselessly a 'crack' caused him to turn around and see Karen, who had apparated back to the muggle side of the platform.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"It won't let me through for some reason," Harry said. Karen pressed her hand to the barrier and it was solid.

"Very well, take my hand," she said. Harry did so and then felt a squeezing sensation like going through a too narrow tube. The next thing he knew he was standing inside the platform. "There we go. I don't know what the problem was, but we're here."

She hugged and kissed each of them goodbye and then they boarded the train, quickly finding the compartment where Hermione and Neville were waiting for them. Looking out the window, Harry saw the Weasleys arrive and board the train barely a minute before it left.

"So," Harry said. "Any idea why we had to buy all those Lockhart books?"

"Lockhart is so _amazing_ , isn't he?" Hermione gushed.

Harry and Elizabeth blinked at her.

"Uhh..." Harry said. "That is not the first word I'd used to describe him."

"Or the second," said Elizabeth.

"Or the third," Neville said.

"Or at all for that matter," Harry finished.

Hermione frowned at them. "What are you talking about? He's don _e so many things_!"

"Correction," said Elizabeth. "Lockhart has _books_ that _claim_ he's done those things."

"But that doesn't mean anything," said Harry, "because _so do I_."

"You mean all those 'Adventures of Harry Potter' books?" Neville said. "Yeah, those were a bit over the top."

"Those are just children stories," Hermione said with a snort. "They're _obviously_ fiction, but Lockhart's the real deal."

"But...why?" Elizabeth asked.

"Why?" Hermione said. "Didn't you read his books?"

"Yes, we did," Harry said. "And in my considered opinion, every single one of Lockhart's books is about two-hundred and fifty pages of pointless fluff and fifty pages of actual plot. It _can't_ actually be real because he's too perfect."

"Some of his claims _are_ really implausible," Neville said. "Trapping a chameleon ghoul with a tea-strainer? Are you kidding me?"

"Well _I_ disagree," said Hermione. "And _I_ actually saw him while I was buying my books, and I think he is really is that good."

" _No one_ is that good," Elizabeth retorted.

"Lockhart is."

"Just because they're in books doesn't make them true." Harry replied, crossing his arms.

"You sound like you're jealous," Hermione said.

Harry's eyes widened. _"_ I'm not jealous, I'm just dumbfounded that someone as smart as you actually believes Lockhart."

Hermione harrumphed and buried herself in _Voyages with Vampires_. Harry sighed and pressed his head to the window. This felt like the start of a _long_ year. The train ride certainly lasted long enough without their usual conversation. Finally the train arrived at Hogwarts and they disembarked and headed over towards the carriages that would take them to the castle, but Harry suddenly stopped short when they reached one, and stared in shock at the creatures which were in front of each of them.

If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither—vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Those—those—what are _those_ things?" Although he hadn't been paying much attention, he was pretty sure that he would have remembered seeing those creatures last spring.

"What things?" Neville said.

"Those...those creatures in front of the carriages."

"Harry," Hermione said. "There's nothing in front of the carriages."

"Yes, there are, I can see them."

"I don't see anything, Harry," Elizabeth said.

"Neither do I," said Neville.

"What do you mean you can't see them?" Harry exclaimed. "They're _right there!_ "

"There's nothing there, Harry," Hermione insisted.

"I'll prove it to you," Harry said. He grabbed Hermione's arm and half-dragged her over to the creatures; Harry placed Hermione's arm onto the side of the creature and she almost immediately yanked her hand back in shock.

"What...what was _that_? I _felt_ something. There's nothing there, but I felt it...it felt...really weird. What _is_ that?"

"They're called Thestrals," a dreamy voice said from behind them. Harry, Hermione, Elizabeth, and Neville turned to see a first-year girl with dirty-blonde hair and silvery eyes; she had a very absent-minded expression, wore a necklace made of butterbeer caps and radish earings, and was a holding a copy of the _Quibbler_ magazine upside down. "They're quite gentle, really. But people avoid them because they're a bit..."

"Different," Harry said. "But why can't the others see them?"

"They can only be seen by people who've seen death and accepted its reality," the girl said. "Oh, forgive me, my name is Luna Lovegood. Excuse me, the half-giant groundskeeper is calling for the first years. Goodbye."

Harry watched the odd-looking girl walk over to Hagrid, then turned back toward the carriage. Even having only just met her, Harry could tell that Luna Lovegood was someone who marched to beat of their own drum.

"Well," Neville said as they piled into the carriage. "She certainly looks..."

"Unique?" Harry supplied.

"Eccentric," Neville finished.

When they entered the Great Hall Harry immediately noticed two things, one of which made him glad and the other of which made him groan. Horace Slughorn, whom Harry recognized from his parent's photo albums, was sitting where Snape used to. That was what made Harry happy as, from what Karen said, Slughorn was a good and fair teacher. But what made Harry groan was seeing Gilderoy Lockhart, unmistakable from the photos on his books, sitting where Quirrrel had used to.

In case anyone had had any doubts, after the Sorting Ceremony—in which Luna Lovegood went to Ravenclaw—Professor Dumbledore announced that Horace Slughorn had returned to Hogwarts to resume the posts of Head of Slytherin and Potions Professor, while Gilderoy Lockhart was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

After the feast the prefects led the students to their dormitories. The new password, "Wattlebird", got them into Gryffindor Tower. As Ron had been held back, the second-year boys dormitory had one less bed and thus a little more room for the other boys. Harry changed, climbed into his bed and went to sleep smiling. It was good to be back.


	11. New Teachers and Crazy Fans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where time and scheduling are inconsistent and sometimes nonsensical; the schedule is derived from the info in the calendar on the HP-Lexicon; the only thing I couldn’t reconcile was Valentines Day, which is on a Sunday in 1993 and thus there should not have been any classes for those poor dwarves to interrupt.

Normally Elizabeth Black would have waited for Hermione to get up; their recent argument over Lockhart, however, had left them a bit at odds. So this morning Elizabeth was alone as she headed down the stairs only to suddenly find a red-haired first year blocking her path. Elizabeth recalled her name was Ginny Weasley, mostly because she'd been the last one to be Sorted last night.

 

"Are you really Elizabeth _Black_ ," Ginny asked. "As in the daughter of the traitor _Sirius Black_?"

"My father is not a traitor!" Elizabeth declared, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Ginny continued as if she hadn't spoken. "My brothers tell me that you've become friends with Harry Potter. Is that true?"

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "My relationship with Harry is none of your business."

"You stay away from him! I won't let you do anything to hurt him or corrupt him!"

Now Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me. Stay away from him!"

"You have no right to tell me who I can and can't be friends with," Elizabeth retorted. "Not that there's anything you can do anyway."

"I can tell him all about what your father did!"

Elizabeth snorted. "Harry already knows what my father is _accused_ of having done, so go ahead and get him angry at you for trying to meddle in his personal life."

Ginny gaped at her for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. "You _do not_ want me as an enemy, Black. I may only be a first year, but I already know the Bat-Boogey Hex!"

"So you can attack me with boogers," Elizabeth said drolly, rolling her eyes. "Oooh, I _quiver_ with fear." What an utterly pathetic-sounding spell. And with that she pushed her way past the red-haired fan girl.

(*)

At breakfast Harry read over the schedule McGonagall had given him. Today was Wednesday, so they had Astronomy and Potions in the morning, then History of Magic after lunch. Tomorrow would be the real challenge: Double Herbology with Hufflepuff, followed by Transfiguration; then, after lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed by Double Potions. Friday had Charms and Herbology in the morning and Transfiguration after lunch. Monday had Charms and Herbology in the morning and DADA after lunch, while Tuesday had Transfiguration before lunch and Charms right after it.

"Oh great," Harry groaned. "Transfiguration, Defense, _and_ Potions with Slytherin. Why do we always have so many classes with Slytherin?"

"Never thought I'd say this," Elizabeth noted, "but I almost miss Quirrel; he may have been possessed by Voldemort, but at least he wasn't a fraud."

"Stop calling Lockhart a fraud," Hermione insisted. "You haven't even had a class with him yet."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as they got up to leave.

Astronomy was a theoretical class that had little practical use, at least as far as Harry was concerned. It was also a subject where the muggle world was far ahead of the wizarding one due to advances in stargazing technology. The class Harry was really looking forward to was Potions; after taking roll call, Slughorn announced:

"It seems, based on my first class this morning, that my predecessor severely neglected the topics of safety and proper ingredient preparation procedures and none of them had Zygmunt Budge's 'Book of Potions' which explains that information, as my predecessor had apparently removed it from the book list for some reason. Do any of you own that book?" Slughorn looked visibly surprised but also relieved when every single student lifted up their copy of that book. "Well, that's one class that won't need the review; however, starting in this year you will begin working with more reactive ingredients, ones that will require a more delicate touch and that can cause potentially harmful fumes. To avoid that as well as to minimize the risk of cross-contamination, I will teach you the Bubblehead Charm as well as some cleaning and cosmetic spells that you will all be expected to use."

The Slytherin's seemed to already know the spells—which led Harry to suspect that Snape had already taught them. Hermione, naturally, was the first Gryffindor to get the Bubblehead Charm. "Excellent work, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor." The class was left in astonished silence as Gryffindor had never gotten points in Potions before.

"I can't believe this," Harry heard Malfoy complaining after the class as the group of students walked to the Great Hall for lunch. "Where did Dumbledore did up that old fossil?"

Elizabeth turned and fired off at him. "You're just angry because you're no longer getting unfairly favored."

"Shut up, no one asked for your opinion you filthy blood-traitor!"

"At least I'm not a cowardly, inbred cretin," Elizabeth retorted.

The crowd around them stilled to silence. Malfoy's ears flushed red and he went for his wand only to hestitate when the four Gryffindors each produced their wands. Malfoy finally turned and walked off.

History of Magic was, as usual, boring in the extreme; Binns launched into a dry lecture that managed to make even bloodthirsty wars sound totally uninteresting. Within 30 minutes all of Binns' students—except Hermione of course—were half-asleep.

The next morning after breakfast, Professor Sprout took them to Greenhouse 3. About thirty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. "Today," said Sprout. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione was the first to raise her hand. "Mandrake, or Mandragora," Hermione said, sounding as usual as though she'd swallowed the textbook, "is a powerful restorative; it is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, narrowly missing Harry's glasses. "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," Sprout said. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." Sprout pointed to a row of deep trays with a hundred tufty little plants, purplish green in color, that looked quite unremarkable. "Now, everyone take a pair of earmuffs." There was a scramble as everyone tried to get a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. "When I tell you to put them on, make sure that your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove your earmuffs, I will give you a thumbs-up. Now, earmuffs on!"

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears, which shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout donned the pink, fluffy pair, rolled up her sleeves, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled. Harry and many other students gasped as the plant did not roots, but instead a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby with green, mottle skin that was clearly bawling at the top of its lungs. Professor Sprout plunged the Mandrake into a new, larger pot, and buried it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Then she dusted off her hands, gave them the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As you can see," she said calmly, "our Mandrakes are only seedlings; their cries won't kill yet. However, they _will_ knock you out for several hours, so make sure that your earmuffs are securely placed while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up." Sprout split them up into five groups of four and two groups of three, with the former having two students of each House. By chance or design, Harry and Hermione ended up as one of the odd groups out and so were joined by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to.

They didn't get much time to talk before putting their earmuffs on but Justin Finch-Fletchley, they learned, was a muggleborn who'd been down for Eton before getting his letter and—like Hermione—had been sucked in by Gilderoy Lockhart's fame. The Mandrakes proved far more difficult than Sprout had made it look as they didn't like coming out of the dirt but didn't want to go back in either, squirming, flailing and gnashing. One particularly fat one had Harry squashing away for a good ten minutes and by the end of the class everyone was sweaty, aching and covered in dirt.

The students traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors went to Transfiguration where McGonagall set them and the Slytherins to turning beetles into buttons. Mafalda and Hermione got it done first and then immediately started competing to see who could get as many done before the class ended. Harry, meanwhile, was still tired from Herbology and so found it difficult to concentrate but finally managed to get it done just before the bell. Hermione, he noted, snuck in one last spell just as the bell rang and won her impromptu contest with Mafalda.

After lunch, they went into the courtyard; the skies above were overcast. Hermione had her nose buried in _Voyages with Vampires_ again. A sudden flash of bright light startled them, Hermione dropped her book and four wands came out; blinking furiously, Elizabeth advanced on a small, mousy-haired boy—Harry vaguely recognized him as Colin Creevey, though only because he'd been sorted into Gryffindor—and snatched the camera out of his hands.

"Sorry," the boy started speaking rapidly. "I didn't mean to startle you, I just wanted a picture of Harry Potter that I can send home to my family."

Elizabeth handed the camera back as they lowered their wands. "Ask first, next time."

"Uhh…right," said Colin. "Er…after I get developed it, Harry, could you sign it?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed across the courtyard, loud and scathing.

 _"Signed photos?_ You're giving out _signed photos_ , Potter?" Malfoy came up behind Colin, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle. "Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," Harry declared. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin.

" _Jealous_?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore as half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly.

Harry then surprised almost everyone in the crowd by suddenly grinning. "You know what, Malfoy, that may be the very first thing you and I actually agree on."

Malfoy blinked in confusion. So did many others in the crowd. "What are you talking about, Potter?"

"I was only one-year-old at the time, so _of course_ I couldn't have done anything. The true hero of that night was my mother—a _muggleborn_ witch who gave her life to defeat Voldemort." Many in the crowd shuddered at hearing the name. "I am _proud_ to be her son and I hope to live up to her memory."

Malfoy looked like he'd just bitten into a cockroach. "I never thought I'd see the day when anyone, even _you_ Potter, actually _boasted_ about being the son of a mudblood whore—,"

" _Scourgify_!"

_"Furnuculus!"_

Malfoy collapsed to his knees, choking on soapy bubbles as large boils appeared on his face. Crabbe and Goyle took one step forward each, only to be stopped when Neville and Hermione cast:

" _Locomotor Mortis_!"

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "What's going on here?"

"Malfoy called my mum a whore and the 'M'-word," Harry explained.

"Oh, my gracious," Lockhart exclaimed. He looked around at the crowd, who were all nodding in agreement, then turned back to the gasping Malfoy, who was starting to get back up. "Ten points from Slytherin for inappropriate language, now break it up everyone, time to get to classes."

"I told you, Harry," Hermione whispered to him as the four of them hurried away. "Lockhart's the real deal."

"The only thing that proves is that he's not a bigot," Harry retorted.

"Or at least," Elizabeth interjected. "Not an overt, _negative_ bigot. It doesn't prove anything else."

Now Hermione rolled her eyes. They reached the Defense classroom where Harry, contrary to his normal tendencies, took a seat at the very back and piled all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him so that he wouldn't have to look at the real thing. The rest of the class came clattering in, and once everyone was seated Lockhart picked up Seamus Finnegan's copy of ' _Travels with Trolls_ ' and held it up to show the winking portrait of himself on the front.

"Me," he said, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —" When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start —now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

_1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

Harry briefly wondered what the hell this had to do with anything, before shrugging and writing _'White, like his shiny teeth'._

_2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

Harry frowned. Well if it was 'secret', then how could anyone know it. Harry's eyes gleamed as he got an idea and he wrote: ' _To get rich by making everyone buy his books'._

_3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

Harry started to get into the flow of things. _'Becoming a teacher at Hogwarts so that all the students are forced to buy his books.'_

_4\. How many times has Gilderoy Lockhart won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?_

Harry knew from Lockhart's introductory spiel that it was 'five' but how was that important to the topic of Defense Against the Dark Arts? So instead he wrote: _'Who cares?'_

_5\. In his book "Break With A Banshee" how did Gilderoy Lockhart bravely banish the Bandon Banshee?_

_'He blinded her with his smile.'_

_6\. Which is Gilderoy Lockhart's best side for photographs?_

_'None.'_

_7\. Has Gilderoy Lockhart ever won the Dunstable Dueling Championship for Wizards, or just been pipped at the post?_

Harry's pen slipped out of his fingers and his fists briefly clenched. Oh, _hell no!_ Now this was personal. He picked the pen back up and wrote in large letters: _'NO!'_

_8\. Which product does Gilderoy Lockhart clean his teeth with to achieve his famous dazzling white smile?_

_'Toothpaste.'_

_9\. Which is the person name which Gilderoy Lockhart has given to his broomstick?_

_'Mini-Me.'_

_10\. What is the exact shade of Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes?_

' _Pink'_

_11\. How tall is Gilderoy Lockhart?_

_'Too tall'_

_12\. What would you consider the greatest challenge or obstacle that Gilderoy Lockhart has overcome in all his achievements?_

_'Tricking the Headmaster into hiring him.'_

_13\. What would you consider the scariest moment in all of Gilderoy Lockhart's adventures?_

_'The moment that Lockhart was actually hired.'_

_14\. What honor do you think that Gilderoy Lockhart should receive for all his accomplishments?_

_'Exactly what he deserves: Nothing!'_

_15\. What color robes do you think best compliments Gilderoy Lockhart's looks?_

_'None at all.'_

_16\. Name fifteen different adjectives to describe Gilderoy Lockhart?_

_'Stupid, arrogant, lying, pompous, moronic, idiotic, retarded, attention-seeking, glory-hog, greedy, narcissistic, fraudulent, selfish, lazy, foolish._

On and on Harry went for three pages giving outlandish or smart-ass answers, finally ending with:

_54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

_'April Fool's Day, a picture of himself.'_

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogdens Old Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Neville was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Elizabeth had her head buried in her arms, while Sophie Roper just sat in her desk with her arms crossed and glared at Lockhart. But Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Fay Dunbar, and Hermione—on the other hand—were listening to Lockhart with rapt attention. Hermione gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact" — he flipped her paper over — "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand. Elizabeth groaned.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor!"

"Stun me, maim me, kill me," Elizabeth muttered, slouching further in her desk. "Just let it end."

Lockhart suddenly paused when he reached the next test, and his face blanched for just a moment; but he quickly recovered and set the tests aside. "And so — to business —"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. _"Freshly caught Cornish pixies."_

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not — they're not very — _dangerous_ , are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

Pandemonium erupted as the pixies shot in every direction like missiles. Several of them seized Neville and lifted him into the air, others went straight through the window, showing the back row of desks with broken class, while the rest proceeded to wreck the classroom—spraying the students with ink bottles, shredding books, tearing pictures off the walls, upending the waste basket, and throwing books and bags out of the windows. Poor Neville found himself swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling, while his classmates were all huddling under the desks.

"Come on now — round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, " _Peskipiksi Pesternomi!_ "

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Bem who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit.

"Can you believe him?" Harry declared, outside the classroom after the mob of students had slowed down and then scattered; those Gryffindors who'd had their things tossed out the windows went scrambling down the stairs. "He couldn't even handle _pixies_ , and he's supposed to be our Defense teacher."

"He just wanted to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione protested.

" _Hands on_?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing—,"

"Rubbish. You've read his books—look at all those amazing things he's done—,"

"That he _says_ he's done," Neville muttered.

"Tell me one thing, Hermione," Harry said. "You got full marks on the quiz, so what was the 'correct' answer to question seven?"

Hermione furrowed her brow for a moment. "Question seven…" Then her eyes widened. "Oh, the one about the Dunstable Championship."

"Yes," Harry said tightly. "What was the 'correct' answer?" Harry made air-quotes with his fingers.

"I put down 'yes'," Hermione said.

Harry's eyebrows arched. "Oh, really?" He reached into his book bag and withdrew his now battered Dunstable almanac.

"You _just happened_ to be carrying that?"

Harry thrust it into Hermione's arms. "Prove it!"

"What?"

"Every wizard who's ever won or been pipped at the post at the Dunstable in the last fifty years is in that book," Harry explained. "So, find me Lockhart."

"Harry," Hermione said tightly. "I don't have time for this, I'm busy—,"

"You weren't busy enough to read all of Lockhart's books well enough to ace his completely self-serving test," Harry pointed out. "So, _prove_ to me that Lockhart isn't a fraud."

When Hermione still hesitated, Elizabeth decided to up the ante: "Hermione, if you can find Lockhart anywhere in that almanac, Harry and I will _each_ buy you a book of your choice."

Hermione's knees buckled. " _Any_ two books I want?"

" _Any_ two books you want," Harry confirmed.

Hermione's brow furrowed and she bit her lip. "And…and if I can't?"

"If you can't," Elizabeth continued, "then you have to burn every one of our Lockhart books."

Hermione briefly winced, but then straightened up. "Fine," she declared and stuffed the almanac into her book bag. "You're on."


	12. Quidditch in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the dystopic world of Harry Potter where Child Services doesn’t exist.

Harry spent a lot of time over the course of the next week trying—and mostly failing—to avoid Colin Creevey, who seemed to have Harry's schedule memorized and seemed also take delight in greeting Harry six or seven times a day, no matter how exasperated Harry's reply sounded.

 

Even worse was Ginny Weasley, who at times seemed like she had nothing better to do than to hover around a corner or just at the edge of earshot whenever Harry went anywhere. Lockhart also appeared to be going out of his way to try and encounter Harry as many times as possible.

Following the disastrous episode with the pixies, Lockhart fell back on just reading parts of his books and forcing students—usually Harry—to reenact parts of them. Slughorn, on the other hand, was proving to be a much more competent teacher than Snape ever had been; whereas Snape's teaching method had been 'sink or swim', Slughorn had the class go over each ingredient and procedure step by step to ensure that there were no misunderstandings so that everyone not only knew what to do but also—more importantly—what _not_ to do and why. While it was admittedly a slower pace than Snape, which some of the more advanced students found frustrating, the less advanced students made far fewer mistakes and almost everyone was producing potions that were at least passable.

Harry was quite unprepared when he woke on Saturday far earlier than he would have liked to Oliver Wood shaking him.

"Whassamatter?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes groggily.

"Quidditch practice! Come on!"

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."

"Exactly," said Wood, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," said Wood heartily. Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed, put on his glasses, and tried to find his Quidditch robes. "Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."

When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry wrote a quick note to Neville explaining where he'd gone, then went down the spiral staircase towards the Common Room with his Nimbus 2000 broomstick on his shoulder. Then, on hearing two unwelcome voices coming from the Common Room—those of Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley—Harry paused and hurried back up to his dormitory.

 _'_ _What are_ they _doing up at this hour_?' He wondered. Harry got out his Invisibility Cloak, and put it on. Then Harry grabbed his wand and Silenced his feet. Finally, he started back down the stairs. Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley were still there in the Common Room; Colin was showing a photograph to Ginny. Great, just what he needed, a bloody _fanclub_.

"—just need to get him alone for a few minutes," Ginny was saying. "I can't believe that he would really associate with Black if he knew the truth about her father."

"Are you sure?" Colin frowned. "I mean, she stood up for me when Malfoy dropped the 'M-word'…"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean anything, she could have just been doing what was expected of her as Harry's 'friend', but the entire Black Family has always been as dark as their name."

Harry's teeth clenched but he resisted the urge to whip off the cloak and start lecturing her; but his plan to sneak out undetected hit a slight snag, however, when he came up against the bane of all invisible people everywhere—a closed door. Damnit, why couldn't Wood have left it open?

 _'_ _Oh, who am I kidding, Wood's probably the reason why they're up in the first place.'_ Harry shook his head. Oh well. He advanced close enough to the doorknob that he could grab it without his hand leaving the Cloak and pulled the door open just a bit.

Ginny and Colin both turned immediately to look at the door, initial excitement turning to confusion as they saw no one.

"Hello?" Colin said. "Whose there?" Harry slipped through the door and when he glanced back, saw Colin poking his head out in bafflement. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"There's no one out here," the portrait of the Fat Lady said. "Go back to bed, child."

Harry turned and headed down to the Quidditch field, belatedly remembering to remove his Cloak and stuff it back into his Mokeskin pouch right before he stepped into the changing room. The rest of the team was already there, though only Wood looked truly awake.

Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to fourth-year Alicia Spinnet, who looked read to nod off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers—the third-year Katie Bell and fourth-year Angelina Johnson—were yawning side-by-side opposite of them.

"There you are, Harry," said Wood briskly. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program."

Wood held up a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, on which were many drawn lines, arrows, and crosses in differently colored inks; a tap to the board with his wand sent the arrows wriggling like caterpillars. Wood then launched into a speech about his new tactics. Fred Weasley's head drooped onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he started snoring.

After twenty minutes Wood switched to a second board, and after that a third one; Harry felt himself sinking into a stupor as Wood kept droning on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from his wistful daydreams of breakfast. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

"Now, listen here, you lot," Wood said, glowering at them all. "Just because we won the Quidditch Cup last year is no reason to rest on our laurels; if we're going to hold onto it, and perhaps also gain the House Cup, we need to not only keep our edge but get sharper than ever. We all know how Slytherin likes to play dirty, and the only way to counter that is to be that much better. So this year, we train harder than ever before. Now, let's get to it!" Wood finished, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Neville, Elizabeth and Hermione sitting in the stands; Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley were also there, though they were sitting in the highest seats.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Neville incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade they had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

Harry looked into the stands. Colin had his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward Harry. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"Don't worry, he's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly

"Well who is he and why is here?"

"He's one of my personal stalkers," Harry said with a sigh. "Though he's not nearly as annoying as Fred and George's sister. No offense," he quickly added, glancing at the red-haired twins.

"None taken," Fred said.

"Ginny's always been obsessed with you," George agreed.

"Ever since she was four," said Fred, "she's got into her head that you would make a 'perfect husband.'"

Harry was suddenly _glad_ that he hadn't had anything to eat. "What? But I don't know her, I've never even _spoken_ to her."

"We know that," said George. "But you couldn't tell just by listening to her."

"She may not have said anything to you, but she's given _both_ of us quite an earful and then some."

Harry let out a disbelieving sigh and they got back to practice; for hours Wood ran them through his new program. Last year Harry hadn't had much to do except practice catching Snitches; this year, however, Wood had him act almost like a third Bludger or an opposing Chaser, weaving in and around the girls as they went through their new moves. This was to prepare them, Wood explained, for the Slytherin's inevitable cheating and fouling.

It was nearly noon when the Gryffindors finally halted and descended to the ground—both because it was the end of their allotted practice team and because they had spotted seven people in green robes approaching the stadium with broomsticks in hand; apparently the Slytherins had booked the next slot. Harry then frowned when he noticed the absence of Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker from last year; and that was when he spotted Draco Malfoy and almost groaned.

"Look at that," the blonde-haired git called out to the Gryffindors as they passed by, "A pair of Cleansweep Fives, I bet a museum would pay good coin for them." The Slytherin team howled in laughter. "Not even Potter's old Two Thousand could keep up with _our_ new brooms."

Harry frowned and looked at them more closely; the seven Slytherins were clutching seven identical brooms, all with the same label in gold lettering: _Nimbus Two Thousand and One._

"Very latest model," Marcus Flint bragged. "Only came out last month. Oh look, a field invasion." The five Gryffindors in the stadiums were coming over.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh, everyone was just admiring our new brooms, Black," Malfoy said.

Elizabeth looked at them, then frowned. "I didn't think Professor Slughorn was the type to accept such blatant bribery from someone like your father."

"Oh of course he didn't," Malfoy said, still looking as smug as ever. "But he can't stop my father from just so happening to give each of the students on the team a new broom as an early birthday or early Christmas present."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh of course not," she said sardonically. "But the Gryffindors _still_ all got in on pure talent."

"So did I," Malfoy claimed. "After Higgs left, _I_ was the best flyer to apply for his position."

"I'm sure you also 'just so happened' to be the _only_ student to apply for the position."

Malfoy's smug look finally flickered.

"Ahh, Malfoy," Harry said in a patronizing tone, "Always dishing out what you can't take yourself."

"Shut up, you filthy blood traitors."

"And _so_ unimaginative too," Hermione added loftily.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Malfoy spat.

The insult produced an instant uproar; Flint darted in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, _"How dare you!"_ , Harry and nine other Gryffindors all went for their wands and the seven Slytherins followed suit. Two dozen multicolored flashes of light later and almost everyone was laid out on the ground under a wide variety of curses and jinxes. Harry, one of the few who wasn't down, went over to his friends and godsister. Neville was on the ground puking slugs, Elizabeth was bleeding from a gash on her right cheek, and Hermione was hanging upside down in mid-air—exposing her undergarments to everyone.

Harry, recognizing that latter spell, immediately pointed his wand at her and said, _"Liberacorpus!"_

Hermione dropped back down to the ground and looked up at him with a flood of relief showing on her reddened face. Together they helped Neville up and the four of them started walking back inside. Behind them the other students were all picking themselves up—the Slytherins retreated to the changing rooms while the remaining Gryffindors followed Harry back into the castle and up to the Hospital ward. After Madam Pomfrey had cured their various ills, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team went down to the Great Hall where they had a large lunch due to having skipped breakfast.

September flew by in a blur and an ever-mounting weight of homework, which Hermione used as an excuse every time he asked her how she was coming along reading the almanac. October brought with it both a spate of colds among the students and staff and also thunderstorms that lasted for days on end. But the rain did not diminish Oliver Wood's enthusiasm, which is why Harry found himself one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind, the session had not been a happy one; Fred and George had been spying on the Slytherin team and had reported on the speed of their new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones—which made the Slytherin team like seven greenish blurs shooting through the air like rockets.

Ginny Weasley was standing there waiting for him when Harry re-entered the castle; Harry sighed in resignation as she approached.

"Hi Harry," she said, her face flushed but looking determined.

"Hello, Ginny," Harry replied politely, not pausing as he walked past. Ginny turned and fell into step beside him as he squelched along.

"I need to ask you, Harry, why are you friends with Black? Don't you know what her father did to your parents?"

Harry's eyes flashed with a spurt of anger. "I know what he is _accused_ of having done," Harry said firmly. "But I don't believe it."

Ginny blinked, stumbled on the stairs, then hurried to catch up. "What? What do you mean you don't believe it?"

"Sirius Black was my parents' best friend."

"And the Ministry sent him to Azkaban; they wouldn't do that if they weren't _certain_ that he was guilty."

"So certain that they didn't even bother to give him a trial," Harry said darkly. They passed the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, who was staring morosely out a window and muttering under his breath.

"They didn't need one, Professor Dumbledore himself said that Sirius Black betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who."

"Dumbledore isn't infallible and all-knowing," Harry retorted.

"Well of course not, but nonetheless if Dumbledore says that someone can't be trusted, that's good enough for me—,"

"Well, it isn't good enough for me."

"It—what? It isn't? It _isn't_? Why not? Doesn't a great man like Dumbledore deserve a little trust?"

"Trust has to be earned," Harry said.

"And you—you don't think that Dumbledore has earned your trust?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Well, for _starters_ , he's let my godfather rot in Azkaban for ten years without even—"

" _Besides_ that."

Harry paused, turned and shot Ginny a dark look. "Try _this_ on for size, then; last school year, Dumbledore lured Voldemort into this very castle—endangering everyone here—using a fake Sorcerer's Stone."

"I heard something to that effect from my brothers, but you can't have all the facts, whatever Dumbledore was doing, he must have had a good reason for it."

Harry scowled. "Whatever that reason is, I doubt that it was a good one, as it led to me becoming a murderer at age eleven."

Ginny's eyes went very wide and she blinked rapidly. "You—you don't mean—,"

"Professor Quirrel, the previous Defense teacher, was possessed by Voldemort; now he's dead, because of _me_."

"If he was a follower of You-Know-Who, he got what he deserved."

Harry snorted. "Easy for _you_ to say, you've never had to look someone in the eye as they died."

Harry turned away from her but a high-pitched mewling sound suddenly drew Harry's attention down to his ankles. There was Mrs. Norris, Filch's gray cat, staring at him with a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. Harry started picking up his pace but not fast enough as Argus Flich suddenly burst through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking around wildly; Flich had a thick tartan scarf bound around his head and his nose looked unusually purple.

"Filth!" he snarled, jowls quivering and eyes popping as he pointed at the muddy tracks Harry had left behind and the mud and water that were continuing to drip from Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"

With a resigned groan, Harry followed Filch downstairs to his office; the room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single lamp and faintly smelling of fried fish. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls, with the details of every student Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly-polished collection of chains and manacles hung behind Filch's desk.

Filch grabbed a quill form a pot on his desk as well as a large roll of parchment from a desk drawer. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I've had enough of it…time to make an example…"

"It's only a bit of mud," Harry said.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. " _Name_ … Harry Potter. _Crime_ …befouling the castle… _suggested sentence_ …" Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. "Detention, trophy room cleaning duty. _Date of suggested sentence…_ October 31st, 1992." Filch looked up at Harry. "I'll see you on Halloween, Potter, now skedaddle! And get yourself cleaned up!"

Harry glumly stood and walked out of Filch's office.


End file.
